Beauty in the Beast
by Yen mi Eruion
Summary: The classic tale, as told by Disney, with a few exceptions: what would happen if the beast were a woman? Add a few minor characters, flip a couple more genders, add explainations to the Disney plot holes, and we have an exceptional revised romance.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

Far away, in an obscure country called France, there once lived a beautiful young princess. She was almost eleven, specifically, and her name was Rosalynn.

She had no parents, as many princesses don't, yet she still was, somehow, a princess, who would someday be a queen. Everybody who lived and worked at the castle knew this. Princess Rosalynn knew it, too, and made sure that everyone else remembered. As a proper princess, she was quite rich and very beautiful, even for almost eleven years old. She was also spoiled rotten, as many princesses are, and terribly selfish. Anyone who came to visit her quickly found this out, but it is rather unwise to tell such princesses that they are spoiled and selfish, as they can have your head cut off for that sort of thing, so no one bothered to say anything about it.

Our story begins on Princess Rosalynn's eleventh birthday, which happens at the very beginning of spring, when the snow just begins to turn to warm, gentle rain. There was a grand party held at the castle and everybody who came had a gift for the princess.

Even on the day before the spring rains begin, it was still freezing cold outside. By evening, more snow was falling, thick and heavy. But inside the castle, it was warm and cozy as the guests presented their gifts to the princess.

"Many happy returns, your Highness!" said one couple, giving Princess Rosalynn a lovely book.

The princess scowled at it, flipping gingerly through the pages. "Is that all?"

"Yes," said the lady. "We hope you enjoy it very much."

Rosalynn turned to one of her servants. "Put it with the others."

The servant nodded, took the book, and placed it in a stack of other such presents.

Another lord and lady approached. "Many happy returns, Princess!" They presented her with a pair of lace gloves and a fan to match.

The princess sighed, rolling her eyes, and put the gloves on right away. The fan she laid to one side, in case she wanted it later. "Yes, yes, carry on."

The next present was received better: a lovely diamond necklace and set of earrings, as well as a large, gilded mirror. "Now, that's more like it," exclaimed Rosalynn, putting on the jewelry and holding up the mirror to examine herself.

"You look beautiful, Highness," said the lady who had given them. "A splendid sight indeed."

"Indeed, I do," agreed Princess Rosalynn.

At that moment, there was a loud pounding sound on the door of the castle. Everyone went silent as one of the courtiers went to see who it was. The guests looked at one another uneasily, murmuring quietly. Who could possibly be at the door at this hour?

The courtier came hurrying back. "Your Highness, there is an old woman at the door who asks a personal audience with you."

"Tell her to go away," said Rosalynn, still studying her reflection.

"She says she won't leave until she's seen you in person, Highness," said the courtier warily. "She says she must speak with you on an urgent matter."

Heaving another sigh, the princess got crossly up from her chair and went to the door, the mirror still in her hand. "Why can't she simply come in and see me here?"

The castle maitre d' hurried to her side. "Highness, I urge you, please, you must be careful. She is a stranger, whom you know nothing of. I don't know what her business is, but—"

"Oh, really, Lumière," retorted the princess. "I am certainly capable of handling myself against an old crone." Within another few paces, she reached the door and reopened it.

There was a blast of frigid air, making the torches on the walls flicker. On the icy steps outside stood a withered, hunched-over figure, wrapped in a green cloak and hood. One aged hand stuck out, holding something bright and glimmering.

"What do you want?" demanded Rosalynn. "Be quick."

"Fair princess," said the old beggar, her voice like cracked slate, "I come to beg shelter of thee from this bitter cold. In return, I offer this: a single rose, laid under a spell, beautiful beyond compare, as beautiful as the princess to whom I offer it." She held the shining object aloft, so the princess could see. It was indeed a rose; lovely and in full bloom, glowing brightly amid the dancing snowflakes.

The princess considered a moment. "Your offer is appealing," she commented. "Very well, then; your gift will I accept, for it is, as you say, as lovely as the one who receives it." From the woman's hand she plucked the rose, setting it in her hair. She glanced at her mirror, pleased with the affect, before turning back to the beggar. "But invite you in? I'm terribly sorry, but I have no knowledge of whom you are and I certainly don't want to alarm my guests with such wretched company. I should advise you to try the servant's door." With that, she shut the door in the old woman's face and retreated back into the main hall. "Fusty old hag," she muttered.

"Who was it?" inquired the steward.

"Only an old beggar," replied Rosalynn loftily, still admiring her reflection with its newly added accent. "She may call again at the kitchen entrance. If she does, see that Mrs. Potts attends to her."

The princess was halfway across the room when there was suddenly a loud, creaking groan. Turning back, she saw that something most peculiar was happening to the castle doors. They were bending outward, straining against their hinges, and something long and green was prying itself between the thick, oaken planks. Everyone gasped, staring in amazement as the doors suddenly burst open, a great light flooding over them all.

Into the room now stepped a most magnificent creature: a tall, lovely lady, clad all in green, shining with an ethereal radiance. The princess trembled, for plainly she could see that it was an enchantress.

The lady stood over the little princess, her piercing eyes glowing. "Fair is thy face, young mistress, yet I see thy heart, and it is as hollow and ugly as thou art fair. Therefore, I shall make thee as ugly in form as thou art of heart." She stretched out her hand to point at the child, her fingertips blazing with a bright, yellow fire. "This mirror, which thou hast so admired, I now make a window to the outside world; all things but thy own face shalt thou now see in it." Then, raising both hands out in a grand gesture, the enchantress cried, "I lay this curse upon thee and all thy subjects; not one of thee shall go unchanged."

The people standing about began to scream and panic. There was a rumbling sound as the floor around began to shake. Everywhere, the servants began to disappear; or, more appropriately, to change. Out of the corner of her eye, Princess Rosalynn watched as the steward suddenly shrank, his face horribly misshapen, his mustache stretching out straight, like the hands on the face of a clock. The maitre d' grew suddenly slenderer, his clothes running together like melting wax, flames springing to life on his head.

"Thus shalt thou all be to the end of time," said the enchantress, "unless the princess truly learns to love another, and has earned their love in return." Then, striding forward, the lady snatched the rose out of Rosalynn's hair. "And this shall be thy testament," said she. "This rose shall stay in full bloom until the dawn of thy twenty-first year. If thou hast not accomplished thy task by the time the last petal falls, thou shalt remain for all time as the beast thou art."

And now, something else was happening. Princess Rosalynn began to change, too. She watched as her hands were grown great and hairy, her nails transforming into hideous claws, her own body stretching, growing, bursting the pins on her dress. She screamed in horror, her voice changing into a great, snarling roar that echoed on and on through the night…

So it was that the wicked fairy laid her curse on the entire castle. All who lived there were changed into objects of their servitude, forced to go on in their duties as the instruments of their own work. As for the princess, she had been changed into a great beast; an animal-like monster, terrible to behold. Ashamed of what she had become, she hid herself away, never daring to leave the confines of her castle. The mirror was her only view to what happened in the outside lands.

Nearly ten long years of isolation passed, for no one dared come near the castle while it was inhabited by such a creature. As for finding love as the only means of breaking the spell, of that the princess despaired; a cruelty, no doubt, that had been the enchantress' intent. As the years rolled on, Rosalynn lost all hope of any redemption. For who could ever learn to love a beast?


	2. Chapter One

_**One**_

The little town of Pauvreville was just that: a tiny village on the outskirts of a huge forest. There was really not much to do there except get by the year and not starve. This the people did as best they could, which, considering the rest of the country after the Revolution, wasn't that bad. For the moment, in fact, it seemed that Pauvreville had been entirely forgotten by the rest of the world. Some might have said that certain magic protected the place; others might have disagreed. At present, however, whatever the reason for their solitude, the citizens didn't really mind much.

There was only one man in the whole place who lived anywhere near the outskirts of town: old Maurice, the inventor, a rather batty little tinker in his own way. He had no reason for alarm, since the villagers knew he and his little family were perfectly harmless. He and his wife, Clara, and their three sons lived on the edge of the village, just beside the main road leading into the forest. No one ever went too near that forest, for it was a dark, gloomy place, full of wolves and dangerous things. That was another reason the town was cut off; the only decent road led straight through that, so it was much easier (not to mention safer) to stay put. Only Maurice had ever had a mind to get through it; and that was only after he'd put his Greatest Invention together.

As said before, Maurice and Clara had three sons. The youngest, Henri, was only twelve; his most prominent duty was assisting his mother in the house. He was the most curious about things; it was he who wanted to be an inventor, like his father. Pierre, the middle son, helped mostly with the farm work, occasionally with the tinkering. He had no ambition for being anything but a farmer, which was fine with his parents.

Then, there was the eldest son, whose name was Beau. Beau's greatest talent was reading. He loved books with a passion; he'd spent many an hour sitting under a tree, or by the fire, or on his bed, simply enjoying a good book. There were few in the village as literate as he; his favorite haunt was the town bookshop; quite a small establishment in itself, nearly fully supported by the only aristocratic family in the village, but more frequently visited by Beau. Beau had read every book that shop owned; it wouldn't come as a grand surprise if he'd read every book in the whole town by the time he was fifteen, which he essentially had, since all the books in town were at that shop.

By the time Beau was in his early twenties, old Maurice's Greatest Invention was nearly completed. Maurice hoped to make the greatest contribution to engineering that century: steam-powered wood chopping. That was actually the only thing the Great Invention did, really, but considering the smallness of Pauvreville, it was a fine step toward modern industry.

As the days turned cooler, Maurice spent the most of his time devoted to perfecting the Great Invention. Clara told her boys not to mind; Papa was a smart man who knew his business. Hopefully, if all went well, he would be able to win a good money's worth, or at least sell it for a decent earning. On the precautionary side, Clara intended to make sure they could still make a living. This required one or more of her sons to get a solid job in town.

As the eldest, this put Beau first in line.

It was at dinner one night in the late fall that the subject was brought up.

"Well, my dears," said Maurice to his family, "my Greatest Invention is essentially complete. I hope to get started out with it for the fair this week."

"That's wonderful, Papa," said Henri happily. "I bet you win first prize."

Less optimistic, Pierre shook his head. "I don't know if we'll win, but you've definitely got a good shot at it."

"Oh, come now," said Maurice genially. "Have some faith in your old man. It's not as if I don't have the know-how for a good machine."

Beau had not been listening; he was busy reading his favorite book for the fifth time in a row. Clara noted this and gave him a nudge. "No books at the table. Eat your dinner."

"Yes, Mama," said Beau, reluctantly setting the book aside to take a mouthful or two of his dinner.

"And that reminds me," said Clara in her business-manner. "Since your father is going away soon, I think it's high time for you boys to start earning your keep."

Henri looked up. "Mama, don't we do that already?"

Clara snorted, ruffling her son's hair. "Hardly. It's as though you've all got feathers for brains! You're off doing who-knows-what, playing in the dirt and damp all day, Beau's off daydreaming the time away, and Pierre's out befriending all the chickens and geese. I meant that it's time you started earning some real money."

"Oh, Mama!" cried Henri emphatically. "I'm too little for such hard work! I can't be expected to do that now."

"And I have enough real work to do growing our suppers," added Pierre. "I'm needed here."

They all looked at Beau, who had returned to his book.

Clara seized the book, setting it down out of the way. "Put that down, lad! Haven't you got any ears?"

Beau looked up, looking as if he'd been roused from a dream. "What is it?"

Clara glared at him. "You, my son, must find yourself an apprenticeship in town. Start making some decent wages, in case your papa's grand machinery doesn't come through."

Maurice gave her an injured look. "Oh, come now, Mama."

"Don't 'Come now' me, you daft old bean," said Clara, giving him a playful cuff. "I don't doubt your ingenuity; it's other folk who'll be doing that. All the same, the lad's got to get a job right enough, if you still want to buy carrots for next year."

"If you'd quit reading fairy books, Beau, you might do well as a lawyer or a taxman," said Pierre, trying to be helpful. "I'll bet someone could use a secretary or a scribe."

"I'm not giving up my books," protested Beau. "I'm not the only person here who can read and write. I'd sooner work at the bookshop than write out tax forms."

"A bookkeeper's boy doesn't make nearly as much as a taxman's would," said Clara. "Still, as long as it's a job, I don't care where you get it."

"Well, then," said Beau, "how about I run down this evening and ask Monsieur Lefebvre about working there?"

"It's a start somewhere," said Clara.

"Very well, then," said Maurice. "In case my Great Invention proves to be a Great Flop, we'll have some retinue available."

Later that evening, Beau was seen walking down to the bookshop, still deep in reading. The townspeople were quite familiar with this, and all gave heed to his passing whenever he happened by. Beau was well known to have a tendency to overlook many of his surroundings when reading.

There was one particular person whom Beau interested. Hidden in a nearby alleyway between two buildings, someone was watching him as he made his way to the shop that night, taking great care to remain out of sight.

A young lady by name of Loretta happened that way on the same evening; she was on an errand to the baker's; when she was suddenly stopped by a hissing whisper nearby. "Psst! Loretta! Over here, quick!"

Loretta was not the brightest of girls her age and glanced wildly around for the speaker. "Is someone there?" As no one was in sight, her only other option was to check her basket, but no one was in there, either. "Hello?"

"Shh, not so loud!" came the reply. Before Loretta knew what was happening, an arm shot out from the alley and dragged her down behind an empty barrel. Behind it was another girl; Georgiana, whose father was the most prominent (and also the wealthiest) man in town.

Loretta knew Georgiana well; they were good friends. "Oh, hello, Georgie. What's the matter?"

"Hush; look." Georgiana pointed out to the other side of the road, where Beau could be seen strolling along, his nose firmly planted in his book.

"That's Beau, the inventor's son," observed Loretta knowingly. "Why are we looking at him?"

Georgiana gave a huge sigh of longing. "Isn't he simply the finest man you've ever seen?"

Loretta squinted. "Sure, he's perfectly fine, I guess. But why are we looking at him?"

"Oh, Lori!" scoffed Georgiana pointedly. "I _want_ him, that's why!"

"What for?"

Georgiana sighed again, gazing after Beau as he disappeared round the corner. Then, she got up, dusted herself off, and dragged Loretta to her feet. "Quick, let's follow him."

Loretta was soon out of breath as Georgiana led her sneakily after, ducking around corners and dodging this way and that. "Why… are we stalking… him?" she gasped at length.

Georgiana whipped around, planting both hands on her friend's shoulders. "We're not _stalking_ him. We're just finding out where he's going, that's all."

"But why?" asked Loretta.

Georgiana gave yet another sigh, this time out of exasperation. "Because I have to know. I need to know more about him. I _like_ him, Lori."

"Oh," said Loretta, understanding dawning at last. It ran away again just as quickly. "Why do you like him?"

"Because," said Georgiana firmly, "he is the most beautiful young man anyone in Pauvreville has ever seen. Lori, _everyone_ knows that. And I have to have him because he's beautiful and so am I, so it just fits. You see?"

Loretta thought she could see at first, before Georgiana began explaining. As soon as she had, it didn't make sense anymore. All she could do now was stare helplessly at her shoes.

"Really, Lori, you're impossible." Georgiana turned again, watching with great fervor as Beau entered the bookshop.

"Good evening, Beau," said Monsieur Lefebvre, smiling at his regular customer. "Back so soon?" It had only been this morning when Beau had stopped by. "You haven't finished it already, have you?"

"Not quite, but almost," said Beau. "I just couldn't set it down. It is my favorite, after all."

Lefebvre chuckled. "Well, I can't blame you for that. Anything I can help you with at the moment?"

Only once he'd reached the end of the page did Beau pause, marking his place with a red bookmark and getting down to business. "Actually, I was wondering if it would be all right to ask about taking up an apprenticeship here. Do you need an apprentice?"

This came as a delightful, if surprising, request to Lefebvre. "Well, it would certainly be a big help. I've got a few boxes of books that need organizing. I'd be happy to take you on. For a while, anyway," he added uncertainly.

"I'll do whatever you need me to do, no matter the wages," assured Beau. "I understand if you can't pay me very high yet; I'm sure my mother will understand, too."

"I hope she will, lad," said Lefebvre, nodding. "And I'm afraid you're right; I've got very little to spare. Reading isn't quite the rage for everyone as it is with you, you know. But I thank you, all the same, and I look forward to having you."

The bell at the door jangled, acknowledging another customer. Beau turned, hoping to prove himself useful right away, and was immediately confronted by a pair of very large, starry eyes with heavy lashes batting at him. "Oh, good evening, Mademoiselle Georgiana. Fancy seeing you here."

Georgiana pretended to be surprised. "Why, Monsieur Beau, I didn't expect you to be here, of all places." As Georgiana was not an avid reader herself, she rarely entered the shop at all; her only reason for doing so was if Beau might happen to be there.

Beau gave a polite shrug. "Well, it's good to see you. Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh, I certainly hope so." Georgiana giggled in what she assumed was a flattering way, leaning very, very close. "I'm looking for a… a book, if you must know."

"Which one?" asked Beau, trying to get out from beneath Georgiana's large bodice while still retaining his manners.

Georgiana glanced rapidly around, then reached up. "That one." She made a great deal to draw her front into as much view as possible and was mildly put out when Beau carefully looked the other way.

"Oh, don't bother; I'll get it," he offered, turning around and pulling the book down. "Ah, _Gulliver's Travels_. An excellent choice, if I may say so."

Georgiana tittered again, flashing him her best dazzling smile. "I don't believe I've ever heard of it; won't you tell me about it?"

"Oh, it's quite good," said Beau, proceeding to summarize the story with great enthusiasm. Not that Georgiana listened to a word he said; she was too busy paying attention to how handsome he was. "So I hope you enjoy it," he finished, placing the book in her hands with a flourish.

"Oh, I certainly will," sighed Georgiana. "But you know, I think I'd enjoy it even more if you were the one reading it to me." With this, she attempted to lean in disturbingly close, as if for a kiss, but Beau managed to step out from her embrace.

"Well," he said to Lefebvre, "I can come in first thing tomorrow, if you like."

"That's quite all right," replied Lefebvre. "Take the time to eat your breakfast first; I can have you in by ten."

"Well, thank you very much, sir," said Beau cheerfully and headed out the door once again, buried back in his book, leaving a most perplexed Georgiana standing in the shop.

Loretta was waiting outside. As soon as Georgiana came out, she asked, "Well, how was it?"

"Trust me, he'll come around soon enough," growled Georgiana, digging her nails into _Gulliver's Travels_ with some menace.

The next day, Maurice had the Great Invention in the family wagon, all finished and ready for the Inventor's Fair. "Take care of your mother, boys!" he called as he saddled up the horse, Philippe, and made ready to set off.

"Goodbye, Papa, and good luck!" his sons called back, waving.

"And stay out of trouble!" cried Clara passionately.

Maurice gave her an encouraging smile. "I won't be gone long. I love you!" And with that, he flicked the reigns and was off.

But, as was yet to be seen, the plans of the Lord are somewhat different from our own…


	3. Chapter Two

_**Two**_

The first part of the journey was quite pleasant. The day was cool, the leaves just beginning to change, and a light breeze was in the air. Birds sang from the trees and, once or twice, deer ran lightly across the road ahead. Maurice began to feel that perhaps the forest wasn't such a bad place after all.

After a few miles, he came to a fork in the road. There were three paths; the main, broad way, heading to the left, a narrower path in the middle, and a little used, wider track leading off to the right. Maurice knew right away that he wanted the left-hand way; that curved farther west, heading towards the next town over. So, turning in that direction, he set off at a brisk pace, whistling lightly to himself.

At the next bend, however, there came a problem. A wide stream with steep banks crossed the road here; at one point, a bridge had been built over it to afford passage. However, over the summer, several storms had uprooted a large tree, overturning it onto the bridge, which had now collapsed under its weight. That way was no good now; Maurice could never get a horse and cart over that. So back he turned, trying to sort out what to do next.

Back at the fork in the road, he pondered his remaining options. The little path in the middle was much too small for his great wagon, so he turned to the right-hand way, hoping it would eventually double back and reconnect to the main road.

By now, it was more or less past noon. The sun had gone in, and a chillier wind from the northeast began blowing in. A large rack of clouds began frowning down from the north, threatening a cold rain to come. As he went on, Maurice began to feel slightly uneasy, wondering if he should turn back and try the middle path after all. Presently, however, he reached another fork, this one boasting several signposts.

"Ah, that's all right, then," said Maurice aloud, partly to comfort himself, partly to his horse. Upon reaching the signposts, he discovered another issue: they were so old, faded, and worn, hardly any of the writing on them was left; virtually indecipherable.

Huffing in frustration, Maurice squinted intently down each way. To the left, the road was wide and open, but obstructed by various fallen trees, difficult for steering around. To the right, the way was dark and twisty, heading higher up, where there were sure to be rocky cliffs and ridges. He could see that he was somehow being forced in that direction.

"Well, we'll just have to risk it and hope for the best," he muttered crossly, flicking the reigns and turning towards the unfriendly path.

As they journeyed along, Philippe began to grow more skittish. The horse pawed nervously at the ground from time to time, nickering uneasily and jerking his head. The wind rattled dry branches ominously; occasionally, Maurice thought he could hear a wailing cry from far off. He knew there were wolves in these parts, but he stubbornly kept on, trying to dismiss his ever increasing anxieties.

Around three o'clock, they stopped for a rest. Maurice had a small meal prepared for him by his dear wife, whom he was missing more every minute. Setting aside the reigns, he took it up, trying to eat sparingly; he had no idea how long he would be now.

"I tell you, Philippe," he said to his horse, "if we don't hit some sort of opening soon, I'm turning around. This certainly can't be the right way."

At that moment, there was a long, dreadful howl from the woods, much nearer than it had been before. Philippe started back, nickering. Immediately, Maurice set down his lunch and grabbed for the reigns, but not before a large, lean animal padded out of the trees on his right. It was soon followed by another, then two more. At the same moment, a great clap of thunder sounded, sending a freezing downpour right after it.

That was all it took. Poor Philippe let out a frightened whinny and bolted, tearing wildly off into the darkness. Dislodged from his seat, Maurice grabbed for the edge of the cart, missed, and tumbled off into the road. Looking up, he saw the wolves bearing down upon him.

The old man wasted no time. Springing to his feet, he gave a bellow like a bull and charged at the wolves, waving his hands about. It only deterred them for a moment, but that was enough to get around their circle and put some distance between them and him. Then, he ran as fast as his short legs would take him, hearing the padded footfalls behind in hot pursuit. Twice, he tripped or stumbled on a loose root, but up he stayed and plowed onward, keeping to the road; if anyone else came by, the animals would be less likely to keep up the chase.

This seemed to go on for hours, but only lasted about two minutes. Finally, he tripped, sprawling flat on his face into a cold puddle. He scrambled back up, drenched to the skin, and lo and behold! There was suddenly a tall, iron gate in front of him. Sanctuary!

Pelting for the gate, he began shouting frantically, "Hello! Hello, help!" Flinging himself against the gate, he discovered it was open and unbarred; quickly, he threw himself inside, slamming it fast behind him. Glancing back, he saw the wolves prowling to and fro beyond it, before they slunk back into the forest, defeated.

Maurice shivered, hurrying farther up the walkway. Only when he was certain he was quite safe did he look up, to see what sort of a place he was now in. Even in the rain, he stopped, staring at the sight. Before him, black against the swiftly coming night, loomed an enormous castle. Its hunched bulk frowned over him, as if displeased by his presence.

The rain had now grown relentless, so there was only one thing to do. Pulling his belt a little higher, Maurice swallowed and stepped up to the massive doors. "Hello!" he called, pounding as hard as his numb fingers allowed.

To his surprise, the door creaked open. Cautiously, he stuck his head in and peered round. A gloomy, dimly-lit entrance hall was before him, amazingly clean and warm, for what at first looked like an abandoned ruin. Creeping in, Maurice looked about him in astonishment. It was a splendid, fine place, warm and dry, spotlessly clean, and seemingly empty as the grave.

"Hello?"

Even as a timid whisper, his voice echoed through the hall. Marveling, he stared round for a glimpse of some sign of inhabitation. His only clue was a lit candle sitting on a table beside a small clock.

"Who is it?"

"Shh, keep quiet. He might go away."

For a moment, Maurice thought he'd only imagined the two hushed whispers. But after a second's consideration, he knew he couldn't have imagined that. So he called, "Is someone there?"

Silence. Then–

"Poor old fellow; we must do something."

"Shh! Not another word."

That couldn't possibly have been imagined. "I'm very sorry to intrude," said Maurice, a little louder, "but I've lost my horse and I need somewhere to stay for the night. I hope it's no inconvenience."

Another moment of silence. Then, a much louder answer, very near, said, "Of course, monsieur, you are most welcome!"

Maurice looked around for the speaker, but saw no one. Picking up the candle, he held it high, but still saw no one there.

There was a tap on his shoulder. "Pardon me, monsieur."

Maurice turned, then gasped in astonishment. The candle he held had the face of a little man on it. Far more astonishing, the little face grinned at him and _winked_! Maurice nearly dropped it in shock.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the candlestick. "I am the maitre d' of this castle. My name is Lumière."

Maurice could only stare in amazement. His surprise increased as the little clock actually _jumped off the table_ and walked over to them!

"There, now you've done it," the clock snapped at the candle. "This is just peachy."

"I-I beg your pardon," stammered Maurice, carefully setting the candle down on the floor. "I don't mean to be rude, but… but what _are_ you?"

Lumière laughed genially. "Oh, monsieur, I can assure you, we've been wondering that ourselves for quite some time now."

The clock man waved at him with a hand; at least, it could only be presumed to be a hand of sorts; it was more like a fancy little side bracket. "Shush, Lumière, you'll get us in even more trouble!"

"Oh, come now, Cogsworth, be civil!" chided Lumière. "He is a guest!" Turning back to Maurice, he waved at him with his candle-holder arms. "Come, monsieur, you are soaked to the bone! Come sit by our fire and warm yourself."

This was a great comfort to hear, for Maurice was now shivering more violently than ever. "Thank you," he said through chattering teeth.

The candlestick led him to a warm, snug room just off of the main hall, where there was a bright fire and a large, high-backed armchair. Cogsworth came behind, chastising Lumière all the while. "This has gone quite for enough; I must insist that you stop right now! That's the royal chair; you mustn't sit there! This is quite out of the question!"

"Cogsworth, where are your manners?" said Lumière reprovingly. "Come, ring up for some tea."

Maurice watched with fascination as a tall coat rack lifted one of its arms and pulled a long bell rope on the wall, then brought him a thick blanket. Shortly after, an ottoman scurried up, wiggling excitedly under his legs to prop up his feet, happily barking. This was certainly the strangest castle the old man had ever seen.

"I am sincerely grateful to you," Maurice said to Lumière. "I do hope it's no trouble."

"Oh, not at all," said Lumière, while Cogsworth said, "I'm afraid it is," at the same time.

There was a clatter of china from the door as a little tea trolley rolled up. Maurice blinked, realizing that the teapot seated on the tray had a little old woman's face, who smiled good naturedly up at him. "How do you do, sir?" she said cheerfully. "I'm Mrs. Potts. Would you care for some tea?"

"Oh, thank you," said Maurice, taking an offered cup.

The tea was delicious, but he nearly dropped the cup when it wiggled and said, "His mustache tickles, Mama!"

"Well, I say!" cried Maurice, gazing at the face of a little boy in the cup. "I don't think I'll ever be surprised by anything again after this."

How wrong he was.

There was a crash as the doors to the parlor banged open. The fire went out and all the furniture-people sprang back, trembling with fright. Maurice felt an icy pang of fear clutching his heart as he heard a guttural, unearthly growl from behind him.

"There's a stranger here," growled a voice that seemed half animal. Whatever it was, a huge shadow was cast on the far wall. Maurice shrank down, shaking from head to foot as the sound of heavy feet came nearer and nearer.

Mustering all his courage, Lumière stepped forward, speaking hastily. "Your Highness, a gentleman was lost in the forest and blundered in here. I was merely hoping he could stay and rest—" A loud, roaring snarl silenced him.

Cogsworth, who was hiding under the rug, spoke up. "Your Highness, I only want to say that I had no part in this, I told them it was out of the question—" He too was cut off by a loud growl, which sent him cringing back.

Biting his lip, Maurice peered fearfully around the chair—and came face to face with the most terrifying creature he'd ever seen in his life. It was something like a very large, hairy animal, with frightful claws and a long mane of tawny hair. At present, however, the most prominent view was of its teeth as it glared down, snarling ferociously.

"Who are you?" demanded the creature. "What are you doing here?"

Maurice whimpered, cowering down. "I-I'm so sorry; I was lost—"

"You're not welcome here!" the beast snarled, lunging forward.

Maurice fell out of the chair, clambering clumsily to his feet, stumbling back towards the door. "I-I'm sorry, I was j-just leaving."

The thing rose, towering over the old man. "What are you staring at? Have you come to stare at the beast?"

Maurice frantically shook his head, trying to shut his eyes, which refused to look away. "N-no, monsieur; I didn't m-mean—"

The beast let out a loud, scornful laugh. "'Monsieur'? Why, didn't you realize you were speaking to a PRINCESS!?" The last word came out as a roar.

Maurice realized the fatality of his mistake and fell to his knees. "I b-beg your pardon, your Highness! Please, I'm sorry; I just needed a place to stay."

"Oh, I'll give you a place to stay, all right," snarled the beast. Ignoring the man's pleas, she seized him by the collar and dragged him from the room, slamming the doors after them. The echoing boom resonated through the castle like a thunderclap.


	4. Chapter Three

_**Three**_

It was the next day, the second day Beau worked in the little bookshop, when Georgiana told Loretta about her next grand caper to win the lad's heart.

"Are you sure this will work?" asked Loretta one last time.

One last time, Georgiana said, "Trust me, this will work. Now, just remember what you're supposed to do. Okay?"

"Okay," said Loretta and headed over to the bookshop, trying to remember what is was that she was supposed to do.

Inside the shop, Beau was busily organizing one of the bookshelves, much to Lefebvre's pleasure. "I must say, lad, I've never seen anyone make this much progress this fast."

Beau shrugged. "Oh, it's nothing, really. I actually enjoy it." Standing up, he brushed the dust from his hands. "All right, there's that shelf. What's next?"

At that moment, Loretta rushed into the shop, having since remembered what she was supposed to say. "Oh, Beau! Come quick; it's Georgiana! Hurry!"

Confused, Beau hurried out of the store, following Loretta out to the other side of the street. By now, a curious crowd was gathering, wondering what was happening.

"Quick, Georgiana's fainted!" cried Loretta, pulling Beau to the front of the action. There, lying attractively across the steps of the butcher's shop, was Georgiana, apparently having fainted away. "You must do something," encouraged Loretta, stepping back.

Beau crouched beside the girl, fanning her face with one hand. "Has anybody got any smelling salts?"

The words "smelling salts" themselves seemed to have a miraculous affect; Georgiana stirred, moaning softly and opening her eyes. When she saw Beau, she fastened her arms around him. "Oh, Beau, it's you. You're my hero."

As a gentleman, Beau helped the fully recovered lady to her feet. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, of course," sighed Georgiana, leaning romantically on him. "Now that you're here, I'm as right as rain."

"Ah, good," said Beau, letting go of her. "I'm glad you're better. I'll just get back to work, then."

Georgiana swayed, stubbornly clinging to his arm. "Oh, but surely, you must have some sort of reward for saving my life! It's the least I can do for such a brave, handsome young man."

"I hardly think waking you after a faint counts as saving your life," said Beau, gently pulling away. "Really, it's not necessary."

Scowling slightly, Georgiana pretended to stumble, falling against Beau. He caught her obligingly and she fluttered her lashes at him. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," Beau replied firmly, gently setting her on her feet and turning away again.

At that moment, there came a sudden outcry. People were shouting and leaping back as a loud whinny went up. Beau looked up at the new commotion and was astonished to see Philippe come crashing through the street, wild and witless. Jumping forward, he caught at the horse's reigns. "Whoa, easy, boy! Hey, it's me. Easy."

Philippe nickered, calmed somewhat. Beau looked him over, sensing that something was definitely amiss. The horse was covered in mud and burrs, as if he'd gotten loose, but he was still harnessed to the cart. There was no sign of Maurice.

"Where's Papa?"

"Beau?" Georgiana approached curiously. "What's happened?"

"I don't know," said Beau, shaking his head. Frowning, he mounted the wagon, looking it over. His father's machine was still there, untouched. "I have to go home."

Lefebvre stood in the door of the bookshop. "Beau, what's wrong?"

"Family emergency," Beau called to him, flicking Philippe's reigns. "Something's happened to my father; I have to go. I'll be back later!" With that, he urged the horse into a gallop and hurried off.

Georgiana stared after him, cheeks flushed. Loretta came to stand beside her. "So, how'd it go?"

"I assure you," said Georgiana, setting her teeth, "I'll have Beau as mine, make no mistake about that."

When Beau reached home, bringing with him the Great Invention and no Papa, Clara was deeply concerned. "But what could have happened to him?" she demanded of Beau, whom she seemed to assume held the explanation.

"I don't know," answered Beau, unhitching the wagon from the horse. "But I intend to find out." Ignoring his mother's protests, he swung himself up onto Philippe's back. "Don't worry about me; I'll be back as soon as I find him."

Pierre and Henri came out of the house. "Beau, what's going on?" cried Henri. "Where's Papa?"

"Don't worry, I'm going to find him," Beau called back over his shoulder. "Just take care of Mama until I get back!" With that, he hurried off into the forest at a canter.

Clara barely had time to scream after him, "For goodness' sake, Beau, be _careful_!"

All day, Beau followed the trail Maurice had taken yesterday, trying to find out what had happened. By high noon, he discovered the reason for the new route, traced the cart back to the old path, and came to the very same faded signposts. Yester evening's rain had washed most of the tracks away, but Beau could still see that it was the only unobstructed route his father could have taken.

"Papa!" Beau called into the chill fog now descending from the mountains. It was much colder now than it had been yesterday; this high up, the clouds now threatened snow rather than rain. A few dry flakes of it fell on Beau's shoulder even as he made his way up the rugged path. Philippe remembered the disastrous affair from yesterday and whinnied fearfully; the scent of wolves was still in the air.

Beau patted the horse's neck. "Easy, boy."

He followed the path for some ways, carefully looking about for any sign of his father. Soon enough, he reached the place where the road was blocked: the iron gate barred his way.

Cautiously, Beau dismounted, leading Philippe on foot toward the gates. Philippe had no desire at all to know what lay ahead; prancing nervously, he shied back. Beau patted his nose once more. "Steady, boy, it's okay."

As they came near, Beau saw something lying crumpled on the ground beyond the gate. Casting all caution to the wind, he rushed forward, came through the gate, which was still open, and picked up the mysterious object.

It was Maurice's hat.

"Papa."

Looking up, Beau noted the ominous, hulking form of the strange castle. Biting his lip, he hesitated for a moment, drew a deep breath, and made towards the castle, towing an unhappy Philippe behind him.

Inside the castle, Lumière and Cogsworth were deeply engrossed in one of their famous arguments.

"I told you, didn't I?" Cogsworth was saying. "I said it was a bad idea, but oh, no, you just had to invite him in; serve him tea, sit in her Highness' chair, pet the pooch."

Lumière shrugged dismissively. "I was only trying to be hospitable."

"Hmph," huffed Cogsworth. "I tell you, you're an irresponsible, devil-may-care, waxy eared, slack jawed—"

"Papa?"

The sound of an unknown voice froze both servants in their tracks. Whirling round, they were just in time to see a strange gentleman pass by the door. He was looking the other way, so he never noticed the look of amazement given him by a clock and a candlestick.

Lumière and Cogsworth raced to the door, peering cautiously out into the hall. "It's a young man!" whispered Lumière excitedly.

"I _know_ it's a young man," said Cogsworth heatedly. "The question is, what's he doing here?"

"Don't you see?" said Lumière. "He's the one; the one we have been waiting for! He has come to break the spell!" Without another word of explanation, he charged off towards the newcomer.

"Wait a minute!" hissed Cogsworth, before following as quickly as he could.

Leaving Philippe outside, Beau entered the castle and began to explore. It was the oddest place he'd ever seen; it looked as if it were still occupied, the rooms were warm and well heated, and all the furniture looked bright and clean; yet, everywhere he went, the entire place seemed completely deserted.

"Papa?" he called at intervals, wondering what on earth had brought his father to such a place, not to mention what sort of people lived here. Looking around as he went, he could see that this was certainly the home of someone considerably wealthy. Long tapestries hung on the walls, as well as many large paintings in ornate frames. Fine rugs carpeted the floors and strange statues were carved into long, marble pillars.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Beau thought he saw a flicker of movement to his left. Turning, he saw a warm, yellow light coming from a doorway; someone with a candle, he thought, because as soon as he saw it, it began moving farther away, going upwards. "Excuse me?" he said, hurrying after it. "Is someone there? Please, I'm trying to find my father. Can you help me?"

The light led him up a long, spiral staircase, heading up into one of the castle towers. Here, the walls were made of stone, and it grew much colder the farther up he got. Still, he kept on, following the light.

At last, the light stopped moving and he saw a candlestick had been set in a small alcove. Rounding the last bend, he saw that he'd reached the top of the tower, a dismal, straw-filled chamber, with one other door on the left; a dungeon door, it seemed. There was no one else in sight.

Beau frowned in confusion, peering around. "That's funny. Hello? Is anyone here?"

"Beau?" came a hoarse voice from behind the cell door.

"Papa!" All other thoughts left Beau's head as he rushed over, kneeling down at a tiny, barred opening at the foot of the door. Through this, Maurice's pale, drawn face gleamed faintly in the dimmed light. "What's happened? Are you all right?"

"Beau, there's no time to explain," croaked Maurice. "You have to leave, right now."

"Who's done this to you?" demanded Beau. "I am not leaving you here; your hands are like ice. I'm getting you out."

"No, Beau, please, listen—" Maurice was cut off by a violent fit of coughing. He'd taken a rather harsh toll with his night in the dungeon, what with the freezing air, the damp, and the hard, stone floor.

"You are in no condition to argue," said Beau, rattling at the door, which was solidly locked.

"Beau, please," choked Maurice, clutching at his son's arm. "You have to go now."

"I'm not leaving you!" insisted Beau.

"What are you doing here!?" A huge hand ripped Beau around, flinging him against the wall. What little light there had been was suddenly blocked by an enormous, hulking shape.

"Run, Beau!" cried Maurice.

Beau held his ground. "Who are you?"

"I own this castle," growled the figure. "I live here. I'm a princess, you know." This last remark was added rather snidely.

This took Beau aback somewhat, given the size of the figure and the sound of the voice. Still, he didn't dare doubt her word.

"Why are you here, may I ask?" the princess snarled.

"I came for my father," said Beau. "Please, you have to let him go. He's sick; he can't stay here."

"Then, he shouldn't have trespassed!"

"He didn't mean to!" Beau implored. "Please, let him out. I'll do anything."

The princess turned away, remorseless. "There's nothing you can do for me."

"Please, Beau, just leave," begged Maurice.

Beau bit his lip, heart pounding in his ears. "All right, then," he said at last. "Take me, instead."

The princess halted, staring incredulously at him. "You… you would take his place?"

"Stop, no!" Despite his waning strength, Maurice kept a firm hold on his son. "You don't know—"

"If I did," said Beau steadily, "would you let him go?"

There was a pause.

"Yes," she replied slowly. Then, she added, "But only if you promise never to leave the castle."

"Beau, please, listen to me!" cried Maurice frantically, before dissolving into another coughing fit.

Beau squinted at the figure. "Could you… come into the light?"

She hesitated, then reluctantly stepped into the ray of light: a massive creature with shaggy, matted fur, enormous hands with long, pointed nails, the tangled mane of hair, loose, tattered clothes, and, of course, very prominent teeth. But the most startling feature was the eyes; large, blue, and currently hard, fixed on the boy; strangely _human_ eyes, if one looked carefully, but that was hard to do, given the other features.

Involuntarily, Beau backed up against the wall. Maurice grasped wildly at his hand. "No, Beau! I won't let you do this!"

Beau licked his lips, then squared his shoulders, facing the beast. "You have my word."

The beast gazed at him with something like respect. "Done." Turning, the creature took a ring of keys off a nail in the wall, then unlocked the door.

Maurice crawled out, clinging to Beau's legs. "No, Beau, I'm old, I've lived my life—"

"Listen to me," said Beau quickly, crouching beside his father. "Tell Mama and the boys what's happened. And tell Lefebvre that I won't be working there anymore. But don't tell anyone else about this or where I am, and don't try to rescue me. I'll be all right."

The beast wrenched Maurice to his feet, dragging him roughly away. "Beau!" cried the old man.

"I love you, Papa!" Beau called desperately. "Tell Mama!"

Deaf to the old man's pleas, the beast hauled Maurice out to the entrance way, where sat a decrepit, ancient carriage, covered in dead vines.

"Please," implored Maurice, "spare my son, I beg you!"

"He's no longer your concern," snarled the beast, shoving him into the carriage. Giving it a smack, she barked, "Take him back to the village."

With creaking groans, the carriage broke the vines that had climbed round it over the years it, rolling stiffly down the path, Maurice still pleading from within.

As the beast climbed back up the tower, Lumière waved to her. "Ah, your Highness?"

"What?" the beast snapped roughly.

"Well, I was thinking," said Lumière carefully, measuring his words, "since the boy will be staying here for quite some time, perhaps it would be a good idea to offer him a more comfortable room?"

Growling, the beast pushed on by, but took the advice in for deliberation. Back in the tower, she found Beau staring out the only window, watching the carriage disappear.

"I'll never see him again," he said softly, almost dazed. "I'll never see any of them again. I didn't even get to say goodbye."

The beast glanced uncomfortably at her feet, then mumbled, "I'll show you to your room now."

Beau turned, surprised. "My room? I thought—"

The beast snorted. "You want to stay up here?"

"No."

"Then, come on." Grabbing Lumière by his candlestick waist, the beast headed back down the stairs, Beau following closely behind.

As they went through the many passages, Beau tried to take his mind off his circumstances by studying his surroundings more acutely. This was small comfort; most of the statuary work appeared to depict snarling demons, tormented animals, or generic suffering. It may have only been the light, but the effect wasn't extremely helpful. So busy was he looking around that he didn't notice how far he'd fallen behind and had to hurry to catch up; he was not keen on being left alone anywhere in this place.

The beast took an uncomfortable glance back, noting the boy's unhappiness. Lumière nudged her. "Say something to him," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

The beast glared at him. "Like what?"

Lumière shrugged, nudging her again.

The beast considered a minute. "Um, I hope you like it here." How stupid.

Beau tried not to roll his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

Lumière nudged her again, urging her to do better, so she said, "The castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you like. Except the west wing," she added quickly.

"What's in there?" asked Beau.

"It's forbidden," she snapped. Beau cringed at her abrupt harshness, for which she inwardly berated herself. Nothing more was said until they came to a smaller set of doors that led to one of the guest bedrooms.

The beast opened the door, allowing Beau through. "If you need anything, my servants will attend you."

Lumière nudged her again. "Dinner; invite him to dinner."

Drawing herself up in what she imagined was a prim manner, she said gruffly, "You will join me for dinner later. That's not a request." With that, she closed the door, a little more firmly than she'd intended. The sound echoed through the barren halls with a resounding tone of finality.

Looking about his new bedroom, crossed slowly to his bed and sat down. It was a comfortable place, with a large four-poster, a dresser, and a washstand, but it was anything but homelike. The ultimate reality sank in at last: his family was far away, he was alone, possibly for the rest of his life, with no one for company but a… whatever on earth that creature was. The wave of despair he'd been delaying finally washed over him, and he buried his face in his hands.

Outside, snow was falling thick and heavy, blotting out the world in a blanket of white.


	5. Chapter Four

_**Four**_

Back in Pauvreville, the townsfolk were spending that evening indoors, warm and dry. The local tavern was crowded with men taking their leisure after the day's work. This also happened to be where Loretta lived and worked, as her father owned the tavern; therefore, it was an ideal place for Georgiana to come, where she could discuss her own life's troubles with her friend.

"I tell you, I can't stand it," she groused, sticking out her lower lip crossly. "I can't understand why he doesn't bother with me."

Loretta handed her a little glass of chardonnay. "Who are we talking about now?"

"Beau, of course!" cried Georgiana exasperatedly, angrily throwing the decanter at the wall. The glass shattered, splattering the beverage across the wall.

"I'll get that," said Loretta helpfully, taking a dish towel and sopping up the mess. "But why are you so upset over this? It's not as if you didn't have all the young gentlemen in the village practically licking your boots."

Loretta was a genuinely kind hearted person; it was rather a pity that she spent so much time around such an ungrateful person. "I don't _want_ any other gentlemen," snapped Georgiana. "I want _him_!" With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall, launching into one of her favorite speeches. "A gentleman's duty to his lady is to take care of her; make sure she has everything she needs, every comfort she desires. It's practically a man's _purpose_ to do whatever his lady wishes to see that she is kept happy."

Loretta listened intently, as she always did. "And what makes you happy?"

"To get what I want, of course," scoffed Georgiana. "As if that wasn't obvious. A perfect, happy home is one where the husband works all day for himself, then comes home and works for his wife. And that's what I want from Beau."

"You don't think you might be a little mixed up at all?" inquired Loretta. "What if a man doesn't want a woman?"

Georgiana snorted. "Every man wants a woman; most of them just don't know it. I wouldn't expect you to know, as you've no experience in that field."

"I like some boys," Loretta protested.

Georgiana rolled her eyes, muttering, "That's not what I meant."

The tavern door flew open with a bang, sending in a draft of wind and snow. Everyone jumped and turned to see old Maurice stumble into the room. "Help, please, someone!" he cried, staggering to his feet. "Anyone, please, help!"

One of the men at the door caught Maurice by the shoulders before he fell again. "Whoa, easy, there, Maurice. Calm down. What's happened?"

"It's got my son!" cried Maurice, his face white as a sheet. "It's got him locked in a dungeon!"

"Who?" asked the barkeep.

"Beau!" Maurice began running frantically about, clinging to various people. "There's no time to lose! We have to save him!"

"Hold on, Maurice," said the barkeep gently, holding up his hands. "I meant, who has Beau locked in a dungeon?"

"A beast!" cried Maurice. "A horrible, monstrous beast!"

There was a long silence. Everyone looked at each other in confusion, then back at Maurice.

"Ah, beg pardon?" said Georgiana.

Maurice shook his head. "Believe me, I'm not making this up. There's a terrible beast in the forest and it has my son and we must rescue him at once!"

Now, all the gentlemen were snickering into their beer.

"Is it a big beast?" teased one man.

"Huge, enormous," panted Maurice.

"With a long, ugly snout?" said another.

"And sharp, cruel fangs?" added a third.

"Yes, yes; please, you have to help me!" Maurice gripped the back of a chair, wringing it until his knuckles turned white.

"All right, buddy," said one man as two others lifted Maurice to his feet. "We'll help you out." With that, the other two men led Maurice to the door and pitched him out into the snow, cackling as they went.

Georgiana turned her attention to studying her nails. "Well, looks like old Maurice has really cracked at last."

"Hey, leave the poor man be!" called the barkeep. "He's perfectly harmless, even if he's not all there."

Georgiana pondered this, pursing her lips. "Crazy old Maurice," she murmured, half to herself. Then, her eyes widened. "Crazy old Maurice. Crazy old Maurice; that's it!"

"What's it?" asked Loretta, puzzled.

Georgiana grabbed Loretta's arm, drawing her near. "Old Maurice is Beau's father. He was always a little out of it, but it appears he's finally gone round the bend." Her voice took a new edge as she went on, "Wouldn't it be a terrible shame if anything were to happen to him?"

"Oh, certainly, it would," said Loretta sincerely.

Georgiana shook her head, throwing Loretta a meaningful glance. "Tut, tut, it would indeed. And I'm sure Beau and his family would be terribly unhappy about it. But wouldn't it be nice if there was someone who could help them, if it came to that?"

Loretta frowned. "If it came to what?"

Georgiana glared at her. "If Maurice were taken into intensive care."

Loretta gasped. "He doesn't need that, does he? He's not that crazy."

"It wouldn't matter to people who were paid enough," whispered Georgiana, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

Loretta blinked, thoroughly confused. "What do you mean?"

Sighing, Georgiana pulled Loretta closer still. "It's like this: if Maurice was sent to an asylum, it would break poor Beau's heart. And surely, he would do _anything_ to keep him from being locked up, wouldn't he?"

"Anything?" whispered Loretta.

"Even, perhaps," said Georgiana importantly, "marry a certain rich someone, who might be able to get Maurice out."

"Ahhh," said Loretta, grasping it at last. "But where can we find someone like that?"

"Um, hello?" Georgiana pointed at herself.

Loretta blinked, then said, "Ahhh" again. "And then, you and Beau would be married, wouldn't you? That's what you meant, wasn't it?"

Georgiana sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're brilliant, Lori."

"Thank you," said Loretta, glancing modestly at her shoes.

The warm, yellow lights of the tavern were muted by the blinding snow, driven in great, swirling gusts up the sides of the buildings. Out in the street, Maurice stumbled about in the icy darkness. "Will no one help me?" he wailed. His cries were lost in the howling wind, swallowed up in the deafening silence of the falling snow.


	6. Chapter Five

_**Five**_

Around ten o'clock that night, there came a brisk knock on Beau's bedroom door. Beau quickly dried his eyes on his sleeve. "Who is it?"

"Mrs. Potts, dear," came a bright, cheerful answer.

"Just a minute." Rising, Beau straightened himself out, then went to the door and opened it.

At first, he thought there was no one there, but a voice near his ankle said, "I was thinking you might want a spot of tea."

Beau looked down and nearly jumped out of his skin. Mrs. Potts entered, bringing an entourage of walking cups, saucers, cream pitcher, and sugar bowl with her. "Thought you might like a bit of company as well," said the teapot happily. "So I brought all my little ones, too; hope you don't mind."

Beau backed up against the wardrobe, but whirled around when the wardrobe moved and chuckled in a lady's voice, "Whoa, careful."

Beau sat down, rubbing his forehead. "This is impossible."

"Oh, I know," said the wardrobe, leaning against the bedpost. "We'd never have believed it, either. But here we are; and what a state it is, too. Name's Garderobe, by the way; glad to be of service to you."

"Um, thank you," said Beau. Just what sort of a place _was_ this?

"Well, I've got a little tea ready for you," said Mrs. Potts, pouring the tea (out of her nose, Beau tried not to think) into one of the little cups, which bounced eagerly over. "Careful, Chip, don't spill," she told the cup.

Beau picked up the little teacup, noting the ironic chip on the edge. The cup had the face of a young boy, which grinned widely at him. "Hi!"

"Ah, hello," returned Beau. "Thanks very much." It was a mildly unnerving experience, drinking from a living cup. Beau tried to be careful as he drained it to the dregs.

"So, ah," he said when he finished, "is everyone here like this? I mean, is all the furniture—not to be disrespectful, or anything—"

"Oh, goodness, no," laughed Mrs. Potts. "Only the servants here got turned into things like that. The rest of the castle's perfectly ordinary; there are fewer servants than furniture."

Beau frowned. "'Turned'; you mean, you were all changed into… these?"

"Indeed, we were," said Garderobe. "Been like this for almost ten years ever since."

"So, you were all human once?" Beau confirmed.

"That we were," said Mrs. Potts. "But it didn't do us no harm; you get used to it after a while."

"I don't remember, 'cause I was too little," Chip put in. "I'm ten now."

"I must say, lad, that was a very brave thing you did for your father," said Mrs. Potts.

Beau bowed his head. "Well, I had to. He's my father. Anyone would've done the same for theirs."

"Oh, don't you worry," comforted Mrs. Potts. "It'll all come out right in the end, you'll see." Then, she shook her head, her lid rattling. "Listen to me, jabbering on when there's supper to get ready. We've got to run; Chip, come along."

Beau set the little cup on the floor, and it bounced away after his mother with a cheery, "'Bye!"

When they'd gone, Garderobe sat up again. "Well, we might as well get you ready for dinner. Let's see what we've got here." Literally opening herself up, she somehow rummaged through her closet with one of her doors, then pulled out a spiffy jacket and tails. "Here we are; you'll look simply dashing in this, I daresay."

"That's very kind of you," said Beau, "but I'm not going to dinner."

Garderobe looked shocked. "But you must! Her Highness insisted that you must be present."

Beau scowled. "Yeah, I also recall that 'her Highness' seems to have a considerable lack of manners. Therefore, I am declining her offer."

There came another knock on the door. This time, it was Cogsworth, the little potbellied clock. He bowed, clearing his throat impressively. "Dinner is served."

The dining hall was a splendid place. The table was polished mahogany, with chairs to match, seating about seventy altogether. The chairs were bolstered with scarlet satin covers, brocaded with gold, and most comfortable. It hadn't really been used properly in years, but everything had been polished and scrubbed, the best silver was got out, and the service was at its finest. For the dinner itself, all the stops had been pulled. Due to the fact that everyone was now furniture, nobody except the princess really needed to eat very often, so most of the food was home grown and raised. There was a lovely wild pheasant, a dish of vegetables, mashed potatoes, several kinds of soup, and even a couple of pies, courtesy of Mrs. Potts. The table was set with the best china, an elegant centerpiece was put up, and a warm fire was lit. Everything was ready, except for one crucial item: the guest.

And all the while, the beast had been pacing aggressively back and forth, barking orders and yelling at people. Once everything was ready and the young man still didn't arrive, the princess' frustration mounted with energy.

"What's taking so long?" she snapped at Lumière, who was wondering the same thing himself.

"Now, now, Highness," said Mrs. Potts, coming in from the kitchen, "you must be patient. The poor child's lost his family and his freedom all in one night; he's not going to warm up right away."

"Ah, your Highness," said Lumière, "have you considered that this might be the boy to break the spell?"

"Of course I have!" snarled the beast. As a matter of fact, she hadn't stopped thinking about that since he first arrived. Still, she was still considerably in doubt as to whether any such ridiculous notions were possible.

"Excellent!" said Lumière, his wick brightening. "So, you fall in love with him, he falls in love with you, and poof! We'll be human again by midnight!"

"Oh, I'm afraid it's not that simple at all," said Mrs. Potts. "These things take time; years, even. You can't rush them."

"But the rose has already begun to wilt," Lumière whispered urgently, trying to prevent the princess from hearing.

She heard him, anyway. "I don't know why you still think this will work," she said. "Come on, be real. What sort of man would want someone like this? Just look at me!"

"Now, now," comforted Mrs. Potts. "You must help him to see past all that."

The princess snorted. " _How_?"

Mrs. Potts gave the beast an anxious look, then grew more stern. "Well, you might start by acting something more like a lady. Sit up straight, for one, and remember your manners."

"Ah, yes," added Lumière. "When he first arrives, flash him with a debonair smile. Come, show me the smile."

Scornfully, the princess shot him a forceful sneer.

"But don't frighten him," said Mrs. Potts hastily.

"Impress him with your rapier wit," said Lumière.

"But be gentle."

"Shower him with compliments."

"But be sincere."

"And above all—"

"You must control your temper!" both said at the same moment.

That was certainly tricky to do; by now, the beast was grinding her heels into the floor, trying not to lose it right then and there. But all three were distracted by the sight of the doorknob turning at the far end of the room.

"Here he is!" hissed Lumière.

The princess froze, her mind reeling. What should she do? What should she say? Would he even bother listening to her?

Cogsworth stepped timidly into the room. "Good evening, Highness."

The beast's fears and worries evaporated, leaving frustration. "Well, where is he?"

Cogsworth glanced carelessly up. "Who? Oh, the gentleman, yes! Ah, he is…" The clock wilted a little, hesitating. "He is currently in the process of… Due to circumstances being what they are…"

The princess gave him a look.

"H-he's not coming," Cogsworth stuttered lamely.

It was as if someone had set off a cannon. The beast tore out of the dining room, up the stairs, and to the hall, where Beau's doors stood, firmly shut. She could barely hear Cogsworth's shouting over the blood pounding in her ears. With one mighty fist, she punched the door solidly three times, leaving a knuckle-shaped dent in its smooth surface.

"I thought I told you to come down to dinner!" she roared.

"I'm not hungry," Beau answered evenly from within.

The beast clenched her fists. "You come out of there, or I'm breaking the door down!"

Beau gave a humorless laugh. "Go ahead, then; it's your castle."

A very light tap on her ankle made her look down to see Lumière, Mrs. Potts, and Cogsworth all standing by. "Ah, Highness," said Lumière quietly, "I don't really think that's the best way to win the boy's affections."

"Please, _attempt_ to be a lady," pleaded Cogsworth nervously.

"But he's being so _difficult_ ," hissed the princess.

"Gently, gently," said Mrs. Potts soothingly.

The beast sighed, trying to calm herself. Closing her eyes, she said, much more quietly, "Will you come down to dinner?"

"No," was the answer. The princess raised a fist.

"Suave, gentile," advised Cogsworth.

"It would be a great pleasure," said the beast through gritted teeth, "if you would join me for dinner."

Cogsworth cleared his throat pointedly.

"Please," she added.

"No, thank you," said Beau.

The princess snapped. "You can't stay in there forever!"

"Oh, yeah? Watch me."

"Fine; go ahead and STARVE!" The beast whirled, facing the servants. "If he doesn't eat with me, he doesn't eat at all." Then, snarling ferociously, she stormed off down the hall, the heavy thud of a door slamming signaling her departure to her room.

Mrs. Potts gave a sigh. "Oh, dear. That didn't go very well at all."

"Lumière, stand watch at the door and see if there is the slightest change," instructed Cogsworth.

Lumière saluted. "You can count on me, _mon Capitan_."

Thus adjourned, Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts returned to the kitchen to clean up what was left of dinner.

The beast stomped into her own chambers, kicking a small table across the room. She'd asked nicely; used manners, even; and still was refused. If the boy expected her to start begging, he would soon be disappointed. All the same, it didn't come as a vast shock; she'd been virtually despised before her enchantment; she would probably continue to be despised afterwards.

Be that as it was, she was still wildly curious about the gentleman. Who was he? Where did he come from? What sorts of things was he used to? What sort of a life did he have, before she'd forced him to live as her prisoner? She didn't want to be, but she was largely interested in finding these things out.

As always, there was one surefire way of eavesdropping on whatever intrigued her. Crossing to the end of her room, she came to a small table, hosting her two most valued possessions: her enchanted mirror, which could show her anything she wanted to see, and the enchanted rose, the hated symbol of her shame. Picking up the mirror, she barked, "Show me the boy."

The mirror's surface went opaque, then cleared to reveal Beau, sitting on his bed, talking to Garderobe.

"Her Highness is not so bad once you get to know her," Garderobe was saying. "Why don't you just give her a chance?"

"I really don't want to get to know her," said Beau. "In fact, I don't want to have anything to do with her. She doesn't seem to want much to do with me and I'm not coming to her if she continues acting like a monster."

Truth stung bitterly, she thought, setting the mirror down. Blinking away sudden moisture, she felt certain she'd only been fooling herself after all. It was obvious that no one would ever see her as anything but what she was: a hideous, ferocious beast.

Another petal slipped from the rose, shed from the waning blossom like a mocking tear of her hopelessness.


	7. Chapter Six

_**Six**_

It was nearly eleven o'clock and all was as still as stone. In the upstairs hall, Beau's door opened a crack, just wide enough to peer through. Garderobe had fallen fast asleep; outside, there was no one in sight.

Cautiously, without making a sound, Beau crept out into the passageway. The halls were all dark, but there was light coming from downstairs. There was also a light coming from behind a set of nearby drapes; evidently, Lumière was sharing an intimate moment with one of the maids. Beau managed to sneak past without detection.

Heading down the stairs, he discovered that the light was coming from the kitchen, where the sound of clattering pots and pans could be heard. There were voices, too; evidently, Mrs. Potts was sending her children to bed.

"But I'm not sleepy," Chip was whining plaintively.

Mrs. Potts gave him a kiss. "Yes you are. Goodnight, dear." With this, she nosed him into the cupboard, where he fell sound asleep right off.

"Meanwhile, I work and slave all day, and for what?" a different voice ranted on. "A culinary masterpiece gone to waste! I tell you, if I was myself, I would quit!"

"Oh, stop your grousing," said Mrs. Potts. "It's been a long night for all of us. Try not to take it so personally; she's doing her best, but she won't have her way all the time."

Another voice spoke up; it was Cogsworth, this time. "Well, I think he was just being stubborn. After all, she did say 'please.'"

"But it's not going to work in one night!" insisted Mrs. Potts. "And unless it's done properly, it won't have any affect at all."

Beau peered closer through the narrow gap between the doors. His foot nudged the door open wider, letting out a squeak as it moved. Cogsworth looked up, brightening considerably. "Splendid to see you, my dear sir!" he cried, trotting over and bowing deeply. "Allow me to introduce myself: I am Cogsworth, at your service."

"Hello," said Beau, waving timidly.

There was a clatter of metal as Lumière came scuttling in as quickly as possible, rubbing out distinct lip-shaped impressions from his waxy face. "Good evening; I am Lumière. It is a pleasure, monsieur." He too gave a deep bow, taking great pains to bump Cogsworth back a pace.

"So, what brings you out at this hour?" inquired Cogsworth politely, while elbowing the candlestick at the same time.

"Well, for starters, I'm actually a little hungry," Beau admitted.

Mrs. Potts perked up. "Did you hear that? He's hungry!" She began capering about, bouncing over the countertop and giving out orders. "Stoke the fire, break out the silver, wake the china."

Cogsworth cleared his throat again. "Remember what her Highness said."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Mrs. Potts dismissively. "I'm not about to let the poor lad go hungry."

"Well, just keep it down," urged the clock, nervously glancing toward the door. "We don't want any trouble."

In another few minutes, Beau was quite comfortably settled with several hot, hearty dishes of the best enchanted gourmet anyone could wish for. "My compliments to the chef," he said with relish. After his first mouthful or two, he turned to Mrs. Potts. "So, as this is my first time in an enchanted castle, I'm curious to know: how did you all get this way?"

Cogsworth let out a nervous laugh. "'Enchanted'; who said anything about the castle being enchanted?"

Beau hid a smile. "I kinda figured that out myself. So, what's the story?"

Mrs. Potts shook her head. "Dear me, I'm afraid that's a bit of a complicated matter. Short version is, we were cursed this way, roughly around ten years ago. Very nasty business."

Beau nodded in sympathy, swallowing another bite. "And was her Highness also…"

"Along with the rest of us, yes," nodded Mrs. Potts. "She'd set up a fine party when, all of a sudden, an enchantress comes out of nowhere and curses us all like this. All the butlers were suddenly dressers and chests, the kitchen had been made into pots and kettles, and my own family, as you can see, got turned into a tea set."

Beau was shocked. "For no reason at all? Even your children?"

"Even the dog," affirmed Mrs. Potts. "Quite frankly, I suspect she was just a jealous, bad-tempered woman. My Chip wasn't even more than half a year old yet."

"What about your husband?" asked Beau.

That appeared to be a bit of a tender subject, for Mrs. Potts looked down. "No. Unfortunately, he wasn't with us when it happened."

Cogsworth leaned very close, muttering in Beau's ear. "Afraid he'd rather, ah, lost his head not long before. We try not to talk of it."

"You cannot imagine, monsieur, how tedious life has been for us," sighed Lumière gloomily. "Trapped in this wretched state, with no one to entertain, no chance to use our skills."

"Indeed, not to speak of the poor children," added Mrs. Potts. "They've had no one their age for company all the while."

"Our situation is quite hopeless," continued Lumière, "if not for—"

"Yes, yes; quite a sad tale, truly it is," said Cogsworth, giving the candlestick a meaningful look. "And that's all there is to it, really. Nothing more, nothing less."

Beau raised an eyebrow, feeling as if there were a great deal more than that, but only said, "I'm awfully sorry; I wish there was something I could do for you."

Lumière's wick brightened up eagerly, but Cogsworth said hastily, "Oh, not at all, not at all. You needn't worry yourself with our miseries. So, what do you think of your new home?"

"Well, if it's all right, I'd like to explore a little more," said Beau. "Again, it is my first time in an enchanted castle."

Cogsworth looked uncertain. "Well, I'm not sure that's a good idea; you couldn't just go poking around in certain places."

"Maybe you could show me around, then," recommended Beau. "I'm sure you know everything there is to know about this place."

Cogsworth gave a modest chuckle. "Well, actually, yes, I do."

After dinner, Beau was given something of a grand tour of the castle, led mostly by Cogsworth, and accompanied by Lumière. Truth be told, Beau was more interested in the large, vast corridors winding in and out of each other and all the interesting little side passages than in Cogsworth's detailed recounting of the various histories of the tapestries, paintings, and wall designs. All the same, it was quite a fascinating place. It was also quite a large one, which made it all the more interesting. As they went along, he also noticed more of the enchanted service running the place. There were several lovely maids that had been made into mops, brooms, and feather dusters, many guards that were now suits of armor, and the little ottoman terrier that yapped happily after them.

At one point, while Cogsworth was pointing out various facts about the ceiling, Beau happened to notice one particular staircase they had simply passed by. It was short, leading up to a one-way landing, as if it led specifically to one room or area. Curious, Beau moved closer to investigate, but was suddenly cut off by Cogsworth and Lumière, trying to block his way.

"What's up there?" he asked.

"Oh, up there?" Cogsworth glanced over his shoulder, as if he hadn't noticed where the stairs he was standing on led to. "Oh, nothing at all; absolutely nothing of interest in the west wing. Terribly dusty, dull place; not worth the time."

"Aha." Beau couldn't help smiling. "So that's the west wing, is it?"

Cogsworth winced, and Lumière jabbed at him.

Beau took a step nearer, craning his neck to see around the corner. "Wonder what she's hiding up there?"

"Hiding? Our mistress is hiding nothing," said Lumière defensively.

"Then it wouldn't be forbidden, would it?" Beau stepped over the two, but they quickly hurried in front of him again.

"Perhaps you'd like to take a look at someplace else," suggested Cogsworth. "We have several exquisite tapestries, dating back several generations—"

"Maybe some other time." Beau stepped over them a second time; again, they raced to cut him off.

"Maybe the gardens?" put in Lumière. "Or the library?"

That peaked Beau's interest. "You have a library?"

"Oh, yes!" Cogsworth eagerly jumped on the change of subject. "With books; thousands of books, mountains of books, more books than you could ever read in a lifetime, books on every subject you've ever heard of!" Still chattering on, he and Lumière strolled happily off in the other direction.

Beau hesitated, debating on following them. In the end, curiosity got the better of him; glancing carefully around, he turned and mounted the steps leading to the west wing.

It was quite different a place from any he'd seen yet. Most of the furniture here was broken or destroyed; fragments blanketed the rug, piled in the corners and along the edges. Once, Beau thought he saw someone following him, but it turned out to be his own reflection in a large, cracked mirror, tinged green with age. It was poorly lit, too; the only light came from the light in the outer hall.

The passageway was fairly short, leading to a large set of double doors at the end. The knobs were dirty and scratched, as if large claws had torn at them. Taking one last look back, Beau drew a deep breath and opened the doors.

In this room, there was hardly any light at all. From what could be seen, it was a very large chamber, strewn with shattered pieces of furniture, shredded clothes, and torn hangings that dangled down like multicolored cobwebs. Picking his way across the floor was no easy task; once or twice, he nearly upended a small table or chair. When he drew near to the bed, he felt a crunch beneath his foot. Looking down, he saw the remains of a tiny teacup; far smaller than Chip. Close beside it lay an ancient doll, one glazed eye staring lifelessly up at him; quite an unnerving sight.

Beau backtracked a step or two, taking another look around. He could now see other similar shapes in the gloom; a dollhouse was set on one wall, now covered with dust. Another tea table, once hosting another doll and a stuffed bear, had been knocked aside, sending the party to the floor on one side. The poor bear was missing one of its button eyes.

"Kinda creepy," Beau muttered to himself, turning around. On the opposite wall, he caught a glimpse of a large painting, partially concealed by a drawn curtain. Crossing to it, he lifted the drape away, revealing an old, faded portrait. It was of a girl in a blue dress; a very small, young girl, with large, blue eyes. There was no one else in the picture.

"She was just a kid," he breathed, gently brushing the dust off of the face.

The painted eyes gazed back at him, void of emotion. From across the room, something else caught his eye: a faint, rosy light was glowing just around the corner. Turning, Beau saw the most incredible sight he'd ever laid eyes on: a shining rose, in full bloom, floating in midair under a glass case.

Hardly daring to breathe, he crept over to this strange entity, gingerly lifting the cover away. Obviously, it was some kind of magical flower, given by the fact that it was floating and glowing. Five of its petals had fallen; the rest of the bloom looked as if it would soon follow. Without thinking, he reached a finger towards the velvet blossom—

A shadow fell over him. Looking up, Beau jumped back as the beast loomed up out of the darkness. Lunging forward, she seized the glass cover and put it back over the rose, then turned and glared at him, eyes blazing.

"Why did you come here?" she rumbled.

Beau edged backward, placing a small stool between himself and the beast. "I-I'm sorry."

"I told you," said the beast, the growl rising to a snarl, "never to come here!"

"I didn't mean any harm," said Beau, leaning still farther away.

"Do you realize what you could have done!?" With a roar, the beast swiped out a massive paw, obliterating the stool.

Beau scrambled back. "Stop, please; just calm down."

"GET OUT!" the beast roared, smashing a hole in the dresser, just where Beau's head had been a moment ago. No more incentive was necessary; with the speed of the wind, Beau fled for his life from the chamber, never once looking back.

The beast's tirade ended there. She stopped, staring after him, angry tears burning her eyes. Rubbing at them, she gave a sigh of irritation.

Beau, meanwhile, was well on his way to the main stairs. Without slowing down, he grabbed his cloak from a peg beside the door. Promise or not, he wasn't staying another minute; the beast had said to get out, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

Philippe was still waiting outside for him, sheltered in a small, stable-like area off to one side. Quickly, Beau mounted the horse and rode at full gallop off into the night.

It was a genuine blizzard by now; far from sheets, the snow was falling thick as quilts, obscuring all vision but for the few paces just ahead. Squinting against the wind, Beau headed down what he could only guess was the road back to Pauvreville. The wind howled mercilessly in his ears, driving snow flurries down his shirt, but he kept on until Philippe suddenly pulled up short, whinnying with fright and refusing to cooperate.

Glancing about, Beau soon saw the cause of the animal's panic; it wasn't only the wind that was howling. Seven or eight wolves glowered out at them from the trees. More were closing in ahead, circling nearer with every step.

That was too much for Philippe. Rearing in fright, the horse bolted, Beau barely managing to keep his seat as they raced through the trees. Branches lashed out at his numbed face and hands as the wolves kept pace, bearing down. Once, one of them was near enough to nip at his ankle. Beau kicked at it, sending it careening face-first into a tree, but others soon took its place. Philippe thundered on, snorting and panting, leaping over fallen logs, weaving back and forth, hardly heeding any command now.

Suddenly, with a splintering crash, the horse plunged down into frigid water. They had broken through ice into the river. Sending a prayer of thanks to his mother for his thick, leather boots, Beau managed to hang on as Philippe foundered on, trying to clamber out. The wolves, deterred by the new obstacle, doubled back, filing out to find a clear way across.

At last, Philippe reached firm ground once again. It looked as though they might just get away—

A huge, slender creature leapt out of the woods on their left, followed by three more. The wolves were back, their fangs bared, hungry for meat.

Startled, Philippe reared up, flinging Beau to the ground. His shoulder hit a tree stump, most certainly leaving a bruise. Grimacing, Beau staggered up. The reigns had gotten caught in some branches; Philippe was now surrounded, tethered where he stood.

The wolves closed in, drooling in their fervor. One jumped forward, aiming to get on top of the horse's back. Beau was ready; with a solid punch, the wolf was sent spinning away, whimpering as it went. The rest of the pack closed in.

Glancing around, Beau picked up a thick stick, swinging at the animals to keep them back. Apparently, it was a rather old stick; one bolder wolf caught it in its teeth, whereupon it promptly splintered, leaving a four-inch stub in Beau's hand. Throwing it aside, he aimed another kick at it, but another wolf came at him from the side, catching him by his cloak. Beau struggled, trying to get the cloak off, but the clasp was stuck. Even as he struck out, he knew it was no good; a third wolf was bearing down upon him from the front. He shut his eyes, preparing for the worst.

It never came. A great, hairy arm scooped the wolf up and held it aloft. There came a loud bellow that echoed through the forest like thunder. The beast had entered the fray.

Dragging Beau underneath her, the beast got between the horse and the wolves, snarling viciously. Unperturbed by the new rival, the wolves charged forth, leaping on her all at once, tearing at clothes and hair and flesh. The beast let out a noise somewhere between a roar and a scream, rolling over and over, trying to fling the creatures off. One of them snapped at her heels, but Beau's foot sailed in, knocking it aside. One set of teeth came down into the beast's shoulder, wringing out another bellow of rage and pain. On and on the fight went as the beast rose and fell, rolled and tumbled, kicked and clawed, first gaining, now falling back, then rising again. It seemed to go on forever, neither side losing or winning.

Finally, however, one large wolf, probably the pack leader, gave a howl. The rest of the wolves ran to it, and they disappeared into the night, unanimously deciding to seek their quarry elsewhere.

For several seconds, the beast simply stood where she was. Slowly, she turned and gazed at Beau; in her eyes was the look of one who longs for death. Then, with a moan, she collapsed into the snow and did not get up.


	8. Chapter Seven

_**Seven**_

The tavern was nearly empty, as most people had gone home for the night. Loretta was busy clearing and washing the tables for her father. Some time ago, Georgiana had gone out into the night, whispering, "I'll be back later, Lori. Wait for me." Perplexed, Loretta went about her usual business, wondering what Georgiana could possibly be cooking up this time.

"Don't close it up yet, Papa," she told her father. "Georgiana said she's coming back. I don't know what for."

Her father harrumphed. "Hm, you girls ought not to gad about in the dead of winter night. There's some unsavory folk who come out then."

"They won't hurt us," Loretta assured him. "I'll be with Georgiana, and there's always the musket under the bar."

Loretta's papa harrumphed again, taking off his apron and hanging it on a peg by the kitchen door. "Well, don't be very long about it." Then, he went upstairs to the little room where they lived and went to bed.

Loretta waited for about twenty minutes more, cleaning odd places and sweeping up the floor, before there came a knock on the door. Opening it, Loretta was just about to say, "At last, you've come" when she saw that it was not Georgiana. A tall figure in a cape and hood loomed before her.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," said the stranger ominously. "Might I come in?"

Loretta was taken aback, but another voice behind the unknown man said, "Lori, this man's with us. Let us in."

Holding back a sigh of relief, Loretta allowed the gentleman entrance. He was shortly followed by Georgiana, whose own cloak was covered with a layer of snow. In one hand, she clutched a small, black drawstring bag.

"What's all this about?" asked Loretta, shutting the door and setting the "Closed" sign in the window.

"Oh, wait till you hear what I've got to tell," said Georgiana, removing her cape and shaking it out, scattering bits of icy slush over the room.

Loretta used her rag to sop up the mess. "Does it have anything to do with your infatuation in getting Beau's affections?"

"Of course it does!" snapped Georgiana, flinging her cloak over the back of a chair. Across from her, the stranger drew back his hood, revealing a waxy, yellowish face with a long hooked nose. Loretta suppressed a shudder at the sight of him.

"This is Monsieur D'Arque," explained Georgiana hurriedly. "He's going to help us."

"'Help' is a rather strict term," said Monsieur D'Arque dryly. His voice was deep, but raspy, like cracked slate. "Before I comply or decline, I must know what it is you require of me and what my reward for this will be."

Georgiana smirked nastily. "The reward is easy enough to supply." Pulling open the drawstring bag, she dumped a pile of gold coins onto the table in front of him. "This is the surplus, you understand. Anything else necessary will be provided in the future."

Loretta stared at the money. "Where did you get all that?"

"My papa always has whatever his darling little girl wants," replied Georgiana smoothly.

D'Arque took his time examining the coins, nibbling at one to check its authenticity. "You've only paid for my ears, my dear. Your request has yet to be stated."

Georgiana put her elbows on the table, lowering her voice, even though no one else was there. "Well, you may not have heard that our poor friend Maurice suffered a nervous breakdown earlier tonight."

D'Arque raised a sinister eyebrow. "As I recall, Maurice may be rather cracked, but he's altogether harmless."

Georgiana shook her head sadly. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid he's quite gone over by this time. And wouldn't it be such a shame for his family if he had to be put away?"

Clearly, the gentleman was not amused. "I hardly see what advantage this is to you."

A flash of anger passed quickly over Georgiana's face, but she hid it with false surprise. "I seek no advantage in this situation. If such a thing were to happen, I would only do my utmost to rectify it."

"How so?" asked D'Arque humorlessly.

"Handsomely, if need be," Georgiana answered with a steely edge. "For example, if I were to marry into their family, I suppose my dowry would be sufficient to keep the old man out of the madhouse."

By this point, Loretta was mildly confused. "Would your father agree to such a thing?"

Rather viciously, Georgiana rounded on Loretta. "Papa already has two sons to secure his bright future; he leaves me to my own devices!"

"But how does that help you win Beau's heart?" asked Loretta, still confused.

Georgiana gave an exasperated sigh. "I thought you understood that already; it's not about winning his heart! That can follow later; this is about winning _him_ , with or without the formalities." Loretta was going to ask what she meant by "formalities," but she had turned her attentions back to D'Arque. "So, my request is that you take Maurice in for hospitalization, then allow him to be released, provided my wishes are met. I can easily triple what I've given here. Are we agreed?"

"Dear me, that is despicable." D'Arque shook his head, then broke into a foul grin. "I love it."

At Maurice's home that night, there was nothing short of family pandemonium.

"Beau's gone _where_!?" cried Clara in great distress.

"Is there really a monster there, Papa?" asked Henri, eyes wide with fear and amazement.

"Papa, you're not making any sense!" said Pierre, his face very pale.

Maurice wasn't listening; he was frantically stuffing clothes and oddities into a satchel. "I don't have time to explain any more than that," he rushed breathlessly. "I'm going back out there as soon as I can. You all must stay here until both of us return, or else neither of us. Pierre, look after your mother; Henri, be a good lad. I must be off."

Clara caught at his arm. "But _where_ , Maurice? Where are you going? You've only just returned, along with a nasty cough, I might add. What do you intend to do?"

"I'll get help," said Maurice, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "I've already tried here; no one will help us. So, I'm going out to the next town I come to and round up a few good men there. I can't get into that place alone. Please, you have to believe me when I say that I'm telling the absolute truth."

Clara pulled her husband to face her, looking into his eyes. They gazed at one another for a long moment; then, Clara looked away. "I understand," she said softly. "I believe you."

Maurice sighed in relief, brushing her forehead with a kiss. "I love you all; if I don't come back, just try make the best of things. You can sell my Great Invention for scrap, if you like."

"You can do it yourself," said Clara thickly, fiercely hugging Maurice. "You and Beau both."

At length, Maurice pulled away, giving a nod to his boys. "Stay together and take care of each other." With this, he crossed to the front door and stepped out into the night.

Henri hugged his mother's skirts. "Are they coming back, Mama?"

Clara shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I hope so."

About five minutes after, the family heard a knock on the door. Hardly daring to hope, Clara went to it and opened it. To her disappointment, it was a few rather unexpected visitors. "May I help you?" she asked, a little coldly.

"Good evening, Madame," said D'Arque, bowing. "May I inquire if your husband is at home?"

"He's out, at the moment," answered Clara snippily. "What's your business with him?"

D'Arque bowed again. "Nothing of strong consequence, dear lady. Good health to you all." He made off back down the road, but Georgiana and Loretta stepped up.

"Is Beau anywhere around?" asked Georgiana.

"No, he's gone, too," said Clara stoutly. "It's best you be off. Good night to you." Without any more conversation, she shut the door.

Georgiana huffed angrily, kicking at the front step. "Of all the insensible…!"

"Do you think what Maurice said could have been true?" Loretta asked as they walked back towards the main village. "About Beau being in a dungeon with a monster, I mean."

"Of course not!" snapped Georgiana hotly. "It's absolute poppycock!" She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "We'll just have to keep an eye out for them when they get back from wherever it is they really are." Turning to Loretta, she said in a simpering voice, "It's only for a little while, I'm sure. It's one, simple task; do you think you can do that for me?"

Loretta blinked. "Do what?"

Georgiana scoffed. "Honestly, you're such an idiot." Putting her hands on Loretta's shoulders, she spun her around and planted her behind a nearby tree, just within sight of the house. "Don't move from that spot until Beau and his father come home, all right?"

Loretta was aghast. "Not all night, surely? I'll freeze!"

"Just stop by here at least once every day!" hissed Georgiana. "Surely, you can do that, can't you?" Turning her back, she sauntered off into the snow.

"Can I at least run home for a coat or something?" Loretta called after her.

Georgiana groaned. "You can do that tomorrow. Just _keep watch_."

Huffing crossly, Loretta scuffed her feet to keep warm. As more snow began to fall, leaving a soggy, chapping blanket of its own over her, she remembered with a shudder the cold, maniacal grin that D'Arque had given them back at the tavern. Perhaps Georgiana was right about Maurice, but Loretta couldn't shake the disquiet growing in the pit of her stomach.

Was this a bad idea after all?


	9. Chapter Eight

_**Eight**_

Somehow or other, Beau managed to get the princess onto Philippe's back, then back to the castle, out of the cold, and into her armchair by the fire. Mrs. Potts was very helpful in procuring the necessary hot water and clean bandages. Dipping one of the rags in the water, Beau turned to discover that the beast had taken the liberty to begin licking the wounds herself.

"Ew, don't do that!" Beau reached over with his rag, but the princess shied away with a growl. The servants edged back, but Beau was unmoved by the threat. There was a struggle; she kept dodging him as he reached for her injured arm. "Just hold still a minute."

The rag made contact. The beast let out a roar of pain, sending her servants scuttling for cover. "That hurts!" she yelled.

Once again, Beau remained stern. "If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much."

"If you hadn't run away, this would never have happened!" snapped the beast.

"Well, if you hadn't nearly ripped my head off, I wouldn't have run away!" retorted Beau.

"Well, you shouldn't have been in the west wing!"

"Well, you should learn to control your temper."

That ended the argument. The princess snorted sulkily, slouching a little. Beau readied the towel. "I'll be as gentle as I can, but this might sting a little."

The beast winced pointedly, but said nothing. Beau dabbed at the bite, then added, "By the way, thank you for saving my life."

The princess glanced up, her eyes softening a little. "You're welcome."

Their eyes met, lingering for a moment. Mrs. Potts cleared her throat. "Well, Highness, it seems you're all right now, so we'll just be off." She nudged pointedly at Lumière and Cogsworth, motioning at the door. Taking the hint, the two shuffled after her.

"Why did you do that, anyway?" Beau asked once they were alone. "I mean, you could have been killed."

The princess snorted. "As if that mattered."

"Of course it matters," said Beau. "You're a person."

None of the bites were very deep, and only half had managed to tear the skin through the thick fur. As he wiped clumps of dried blood from the fur, Beau noticed something else; several pale scars ran along the underside of the beast's wrist and arm, where the hair was thinner. Frowning curiously, he asked, "These aren't from the wolves. Where'd you get those?"

The beast pulled her arm close to her, a little too quickly. "That's—ouch—none of your business."

Gently, Beau lifted the other arm, this time looking more closely. The same thing was to be found on that side, too. The scratches were very straight; too straight to be anything accidental. They looked as if they had happened abruptly, suddenly, and savagely; possibly from the work of a knife, or even a piece of broken glass.

Beau leaned forward, gazing intently into the beast's face. "Hey."

She turned away, refusing to meet his gaze. Beau gave her paw a gentle squeeze. "What's wrong?"

The princess barked a loud, scornful laugh. " _What's wrong_? Oh, nothing much; I'm just a huge, terrifying monster, that's all. What on earth could be the matter with that!?" Her voice rose as she spoke, rumbling with the tremors of an oncoming growl. She nearly stood up in her chair, then retreated when she saw him flinch. Clenching her jaw, she purposefully willed the threatening tears not to come. "See what I mean?"

"You're not a monster," Beau assured, leaning closer. "You're angry and upset; and I get that. I heard about what happened and I'm really sorry."

He'd been half worried that she might blow up again, but she merely grunted, "It's not you who should be sorry."

They were silent again for a few more minutes. Presently, a new thought struck Beau's mind. "Hey, I don't even know your name; or do I just call you 'your Highness'?"

The princess glanced up. "No, that's okay. It's Rosalynn, if you must know."

This seemed a good start, so Beau tried another gesture of friendship. "Do you want a nickname or anything? How about Rosa, or Rose?"

"Lynn, thank you," said the princess sharply, but repeated more gently, "Just Lynn is fine."

Beau gave her an encouraging smile. "All right, Lynn it is."

Lynn flexed her fingers as Beau carefully dressed her arm, wrapping the bandage securely around it. "So, what do they call you?"

"Me? I'm just Beau," Beau replied. "No title or anything."

"That's okay," said Lynn, with just a hint of a half-smile. It was the first genuine smile she'd given in a long time. "It's probably better that way."

Beau rose to his feet. "Right, well, just leave that on for a while. If you're comfortable and all, I'll say goodnight." He turned towards the door.

"No, wait, please!" There was an edge of desperation in her voice as Lynn reached out, grabbing at his arm. Instinctively, she recoiled at the same moment, half afraid to touch him for fear of grasping too hard. Her claws had left marks before.

Beau halted. "What is it?"

"I…" Lynn hesitated, not wanting to sound pathetic. In all honest truth, she dreaded being alone with herself, yet was loath to be among others. "I don't… don't know, uh, your story."

Beau sat down again. "There's really not much to tell. I only live a few miles from here; my father's an inventor, I was starting work at a library, and my two brothers—"

"You have brothers?" interrupted Lynn, intrigued.

So, Beau told her about his home life until recently; all about the Great Invention, the town library, and the basic living standards of Pauvreville. Lynn listened eagerly, until he mentioned the name of Georgiana.

At this, the princess stiffened. "Who's that?"

"Just this girl I know," answered Beau.

Half afraid to know, Lynn ventured, "Is she pretty?"

"Oh, she's pretty, all right," said Beau, shaking his head. "And rude and conceited and very, very clingy. She's not for me; really not my type."

Lynn relaxed a good deal. "Oh."

"But enough about me," said Beau. "What about you? What's your story?"

Lynn shrugged, dropping her eyes. "Not much to tell, really. I was enchanted, and it's been pretty much the same ever since."

"I meant, what was it like before that?" he clarified. "What about your family? What happened to your parents?"

Again, she shrugged. "What do you think happened?"

Wrong subject. "I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking—"

"It's fine," she assured him. "I don't even remember them; I was, like, two."

There was a rather awkward pause. Beau bit his lip, wondering how to rectify his mistake. With slight misgivings, he pressed on. "Um, h-how did you survive?"

"Beats me," she replied. "I have my own castle, out near the end of nowhere, so I guess I just got missed."

Beau pondered this a minute. "So, do you think this curse, or whatever, may have actually been a good thing? I mean," he continued hastily, "not that it was good that you got enchanted and all, but that you stayed isolated and out of the way?"

This took Lynn rather aback, but she said only, "I guess so; I never really thought of that as a good thing or a bad thing."

"Well, I showed up, didn't I?"

The princess started a little, slowly raising her gaze to meet his. It was sincere.

"So, for now," he went on, "I would consider it at least sort of a good thing."

Her eyes never left him. "Fair enough."


	10. Chapter Nine

_**Nine**_

Beau was awakened very late the next morning by a knock on his door. "Come in," he called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Vaguely, he wondered if the princess had come to invite him to breakfast, but when the door opened, Mrs. Potts entered on a wheeled trolley.

"Have a good night's rest?" she asked cheerily, pouring hot water into one of the little teacup children; not Chip, this time, but a young girl, possibly a sister.

Beau sat up, staring in confusion. "What's all this?"

"Her Highness thought you might like breakfast in bed today," Mrs. Potts explained. "You must have quite an appetite after last night's adventure."

"Well, thank you very much," said Beau, pleasantly surprised. It was quite an excellent breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast with several kinds of jam, porridge, and all assortments of butter, sugar, and fruits. "You can tell her when she wakes up."

Mrs. Potts gave him a smile, nudging the girl teacup forward. "All right, Tilda, darling. Be careful, now, love."

The little cup edged shyly up, giving a small bob sort of like a curtsy, which nearly slopped the tea over the carpet. Beau nodded to her. "You have such well mannered children," he told Mrs. Potts.

"Oh, they're not _my_ children," chuckled the teapot good-humoredly. "Goodness knows, I'm too old for that. But I do my best to have them brought up properly, so they're quite all right."

Beau hesitated, wondering if it was such a good idea to continue the conversation with one of the said little ones in earshot. "But, then, whose are they?"

It was Tilda who answered. "Some of us are the servants' children, but most of us are orphans, monsieur. We were taken in by Mrs. Potts after… when we first came here, monsieur."

Beau decided it was best to change the subject before anyone got uncomfortable. "Well, I thank you for the tea," he said to the cup.

Tilda blushed, then bobbed again. "Yes, monsieur."

"So, how's Lynn—I mean, her Highness feeling this morning?" he inquired, eager to hear.

"She's been doing well," replied Mrs. Potts. "She's asleep at the moment; we've been seeing to her injuries. She'll mend in proper time. You did a right good job, I must say."

"I'm glad to hear it," he sighed, unable to think why he felt so greatly relieved.

The next few days were cold and windy, but the skies were clear, so every morning Beau took Philippe for a walk around the castle grounds. These were not large, due to the fact that the castle itself was set practically on top of a small mountain, with a narrow, paved bridge leading to the road, on either side of which was a rather nasty drop over the precipice. Some time ago, the architect of the castle had wisely installed fences bordering the gorge, in the event of forestalling any untimely accidents, to which Beau was extremely grateful.

As he led the horse about, while Sultan, the little footstool-dog, romped happily through the snow, Princess Rosalynn stood at one of the balconies, watching them. Her arm, now healing well, was kept in a sling, tended every now and then by Mrs. Potts.

"I've never felt this way about anyone," the princess murmured one morning. Cogsworth and Lumière sat by, looking on with keen interest. "I want to do something for him," she said decidedly. "But what?"

Cogsworth tallied up a list. "Oh, there's the usual things; flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep; although, gift giving is usually _from_ the gentleman _to_ the lady…"

Lumière butted in. "Ah, no, no, it has to be something very special, something that sparks his interest." He thought for a moment; then, his wick flared. "Wait a minute; I've got an idea!"

Later that afternoon, Beau was greeted by a very eager Lynn, who had a very new sparkle twinkling in her eyes. "Beau, there's something I want to show you." With that, she hurried off, up the stairs and down a side passage, gamboling about like a kitten frisking after a string. Thoroughly confused, Beau followed, wondering what on earth this could possibly mean.

They went along a long corridor until they reached a large set of double doors. Here, the princess halted, positively bursting with excitement. When Beau caught up, she took him gently by the hands. "First, you have to shut your eyes," she told him. "It's a surprise."

Still confused, Beau did as she said. After checking to make certain he wasn't peeking, she led him through the doors into the middle of a dark room. "Wait here." Then, she bounded about, pulling open all the heavy drapes, letting the pale, watery sunlight flood the room.

Beau heard the sound and noticed the change. "May I open them?"

Lynn turned back to him. "Okay, now."

Beau opened his eyes. His jaw nearly hit the floor.

The room was enormous, nearly twenty feet high, perhaps forty from end to end. Every wall was covered with rows and rows of shelves, and every shelf was loaded with books of every size, colour, and category. Gold leaf, dusky leather, and creamy paper peered out from everywhere he looked. "I-I can't believe it!" he gasped. "I've never seen so many books in all my life!" There had to be at least a thousand or more, too many to read in a hundred years.

The princess grinned widely, eyes glowing. "You like it?"

"It's wonderful!" said Beau, still gazing all around with awestruck fascination.

"Then, it's yours," Lynn gushed.

Beau's heart nearly failed him. He turned, staring at her. "Are—are you serious?"

"Absolutely," she replied fervently.

Almost on the verge of tears of elation, Beau surprised her by throwing his arms around her. "Thank you so much!"

Half afraid, the princess returned the embrace as gently as possible. When they stepped apart, there was a new kind of light glowing in her eyes.

Unbeknownst to them, the servants were all standing outside the door, watching the transaction.

"Would you look at that!" sighed Mrs. Potts happily, noting the princess' new demeanor.

Lumière punched the air triumphantly. "I knew it would work!"

As the youngest member present, Chip was completely baffled. "What? What works?"

The others took no heed of him. "It's very encouraging," chuckled Cogsworth, rubbing his wooden hands together. "Quite an exciting affair."

"I didn't see anything," protested Chip.

Mrs. Potts nudged the teacup along. "Come along, Chip; there's chores to be done in the kitchen." Ignoring the lad's continued complaints, she ushered him off down the hall.

About a week after this significant event, Beau made a great decision. Until that point, he'd been having his meals either in the comfort of his room or in the kitchen. The princess had allowed for this, feeling it necessary to give him more time to adjust to his new environment. That having been done, Beau felt that it was time to brave the lion in its den; or, in this case, brave the beast in its den. That night, he informed Mrs. Potts, "If you please, could you tell her Highness that I will be joining her for breakfast tomorrow? I'd be really grateful."

"Oh? That's lovely," said Mrs. Potts, a little steam rising from her spout in her increased excitement. "I'd be happy to oblige. I look forward to seeing you."

"Thank you," said Beau courteously.

The next morning, Princess Rosalynn sat anxiously at one end of the long table, while Beau sat at the other. Breakfast looked positively scrumptious, with piping hot porridge, eggs, and toast, as well as a few cold dishes of fruit.

"This is fantastic!" Beau complimented Mrs. Potts, starting in right away. "You have my deepest thanks."

"Think nothing of it, young master," said Mrs. Potts modestly.

Beau raised his glass to Lynn, smiling. "Well, cheers."

Lynn returned the smile, then glanced apprehensively back at her plate. In all honesty, she had not eaten a meal with actual silverware for years, since her hands had long been too large to accommodate the tiny forks and spoons; and that was only when she'd ever eaten at an actual table, which was only when she'd felt inclined to eat at all. Most of the time, when she did eat, she'd resorted to eating with her face, which, most of the time, had never been disagreeable; it didn't help matters much that she always had her gigantic teeth to steer around. Yet now, something alerted her that it would not be considered the best of manners to eat with one's face in the presence of company.

Mrs. Potts was a noble soul; being aware of the present dilemma, she had taken the liberty of placing silverware at the princess' place. Noting the accommodation, Lynn carefully picked up the spoon with two massive fingers. It was, in fact, one of the largest soup spoons Mrs. Potts could find; in spite of that, it still seemed more like a toy, or a baby spoon.

Glancing up, Lynn saw that Beau did occasionally cast an eye in her direction. Flashing him another smile, she proceeded to dip the spoon into her porridge. Unfortunately, the vigor of her scoop against the bowl bent the spoon, which slopped its burning contents all over her hand. Dropping the spoon, the princess did her best to lick the porridge from her fingers without receiving further injury. After bending the spoon back, she tried again, this time much more cautiously. But she couldn't get the food off the spoon into her mouth without some difficulty; it was hard to see it, for one, and for another, once it was in her mouth, keeping it there and taking the spoon out again was a tricky business. Several loud slurps accompanied her efforts; and, even then, half of it dribbled down her chin. It was certainly a start, but it was hard. Perhaps a drink would be a better choice.

It was not. The fragile glass withstood the pressure from her grasp, but could not avoid getting stuck between her protruding, tusk-like teeth.

Trying not to scream, Lynn tugged at the glass as gently as possible, trying not to break it in getting it unstuck. Quite frankly, it was an unavoidable situation; halfway through, one side of the glass broke away, letting milk drip down onto the already sticky fingers.

Tears of frustration prickling in the corners of her eyes, Lynn unceremoniously dumped the rest of her milk into her porridge, thumping the glass back down to one side. At the other end of the table, Beau quietly observed her helpless situation, doing his best not to burst out laughing. What could he possibly do that would help?

He was suddenly struck with a whimsical idea. Taking his own glass, he poured his own milk into his porridge, creating a kind of soupy broth. Then, raising his bowl, he said, "Cheers" again and drank the concoction straight from the bowl. This was vastly encouraging, so Lynn proceeded to do the same. It succeeded wonderfully; for the porridge, at least. Breakfast that morning was not graceful at all, but it was a start.


	11. Chapter Ten

_**Ten**_

The winter was getting on. Christmas was drawing near as the snow gathered thickly over the trees and rooftops. Under slightly different circumstances, the servants would have been busy setting up holiday decorations and paraphernalia; unfortunately, her Highness' mood often objected to the keeping of schedules, since it was a constant reminder of the time slipping past. In the outside world, it was hardly any different. Beau had never really experienced what one would call a real holiday in his life; long ago, they had been tabooed as unpopular, along with everything to do with every religion in general. Under such circumstances, the least the servants usually did was an annual burning of a Yule log and hanging small sprigs of holly, mistletoe, and some evergreen as the holidays drew nearer.

It was on one cold, bright morning that Beau first noticed some of the feather-duster maids stringing these curious ornaments out along a banister. "Hello, ladies; what are those, if I may ask?"

One of the maids dropped a curtsey. "These, monsieur? Why, they are decorations for Christmas."

"Oh?" Intrigued, the lad peered closer for a better look. "I think I've heard of that; it used to be rather popular, from what my mother says. What is it?"

The maid's eyes popped. "Begging your pardon, monsieur, but how can you not know what Christmas is?"

Beau shrugged. "We just never had it. I guess most people thought it better not to do it while there was trouble and it just sort of died off."

Another maid scoffed, speaking her thoughts aloud. "How could anyone so callously dispatch of Christmas? Everybody has to have Christmas!"

"But not our Issachar," remarked a third maid. "He is Jewish."

"What do you do here for Christmas?" inquired Beau.

"Oh, it is _magnifique_!" sighed the first maid, leaning against the banister. "At least, it was in the old days. There's a holiday feast, the burning of the Yule log, carols, bells, giving of gifts—"

"But we have not had such things for a long time," said the second sadly. Lowering her voice, she added in a murmur, "Her Highness' condition made her ill disposed toward them."

"It certainly sounds wonderful," said Beau. "Is there anything I can do to help out?"

"Oh, no, monsieur." The maid shook her head. "We do nothing more than spruce things up a bit; that and the Yule log."

"Well, how about if I go and find it?" he suggested.

This seemed to cheer things up considerably. "That would be lovely!" exclaimed the second maid. "All the wood we have is kept outside, by the back kitchen door."

"Great." Beau smiled, glad to be of some use at last. "What sort of log is a Yule log?"

"Oh, any will do," the maid told him. "Just find one that is nice and fat and sturdy. That's all."

Beau had expected to be the only person going out, but was surprised to find a few other workers, mostly enchanted as various tools, picks, or shovels, headed off to their own duties. Out by the woodpile, for instance, a large axe was busy splitting logs for the castle fireplaces, muttering distractedly to himself as he worked. " _Oy gevaldt_ , do I need some oil!" he cried, shaking himself free from a stump of wood. "Such a headache I have! This job will kill me, just see if it doesn't." Obviously, it wasn't all too comfortable being an axe when he had to chop wood with his face.

Beau stepped around to the other side of the pile. "Excuse me, monsieur?"

The axe, who had just raised itself for another swing, made a rather dangerous arc as it whirled round. Beau leapt back as it embedded itself in a nearby post, drawing another cry of "Oy!" from him.

"I'm so sorry," Beau apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, it's perfectly fine," muttered the axe crossly, hitching himself out again. "Don't worry about me; it'll pass, it'll pass." Shaking himself, he spit out a splinter. "So, what can I do for you?"

"I just need one of these logs," Beau explained, giving the pile a onceover. Browsing through, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to be Issachar, by any chance?"

"Chance or not, that's my name," affirmed the axe, tossing another log up onto the stump. "Don't wear it out. I've worked here for thirty years with it; I can work a little longer." Due to the fact that there was no one to hold him in order to chop the wood, his means of chopping was rather unusual. Mounting a taller block next to the chopping stump, he jumped, face-down, planting his blade into the log. There was a _crack_! as the wood split, stopping the axe halfway down. Leaning back, he pushed himself out of the wood and began the process again.

Beau watched this with interest before he remembered what he'd come out for. Finding a large, fat log, he picked it up, brushed the snow from it, heaved it up under one arm, then turned to go. "I suppose you wouldn't be wanting any Christmas presents this year?"

Issachar paused, glancing up. "Presents? Presents I wouldn't mind, not at all. But Christmas presents; nobody gets those here, not even her Royal Beastliness."

Beau frowned. "Hasn't anyone given the princess a gift on Christmas? Or even her birthday?"

"Well, sure, before we all got like this," answered Issachar, returning to his work. "But after? Oh, no; not even birthdays. She doesn't like holidays; reminds her too much of what she's missing, you know? But hey, _I_ wouldn't mind a few gifts now and then." He said nothing after this, being busy splitting the log with his face. Still pondering this, Beau hoisted up his own log and hurried back inside, out of the cold.

Over the next few days, things got rather busy. Most of the work done now had to do with chopping wood to heat the castle, preserving everything from the kitchen gardens for the rest of winter, and a good deal more cleaning, polishing, dusting, sweeping, and brushing up than had ever been in the castle for quite a few years. The place had never really fallen into disrepair, but, as there had not been much need for the ballroom, dining hall, and the several parlors, these had rarely been regularly cleaned or even entered.

The servants weren't the only ones who were busy. For many days, Beau kept in close quarters, about a secret business of his own. No one could guess what he was up to, not even when he was once seen carrying several large stacks of paper around the corner. Often he would stay up late in the library, working on whatever scheme had entered his head.

One evening, a week before Christmas, Beau asked for Mrs. Potts. "Pardon me, but you wouldn't happen to know where I could find a strong needle and thread, and maybe a pot of glue?"

Mrs. Potts raised the edge of her lid (that was where her eyebrows should have been). "Why, we've probably got some such things in the servant's quarters. Whatever do you need them for?"

"Oh, just something I'm working on," replied Beau, hiding a smile. "If it's no trouble, may I take them up to my room for a while? I'll bring them straight back when I'm done."

"Don't you worry about that, dear," Mrs. Potts assured him. "Keep them for as long as you need."

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Potts," said Beau, bowing to her. After she'd gone to fetch the items, he couldn't help letting slip a wide grin.

As it happened, "as long as he needed" was something of a stretch. He soon discovered that using a needle and thread for the project was much harder than it first looked, even despite the fact that the needle he was using was meant for such a task. By Christmas Eve, however, he had succeeded in completing, finishing, and wrapping his surprise in lovely, decorative paper. When dinner was rung up, he carefully snuck it into his pocket and made his way to the dining hall.

The table was now set with a fine, lacey tablecloth, all the good silver and china, and had been decorated with holly boughs for the occasion. Mrs. Potts really had outdone herself this time; there were pies of every flavor, a spectacular roast, apples stuck full of cloves, potatoes and gravy, candied fruits, and an elegant chocolate mousse with cream. It was certainly fortunate that the castle stores had remained exceptionally bountiful over the years; that and perhaps even that the princess didn't often eat more than a bowl of soup for meals; otherwise, she might have soon starved under their enchantment. It was only now, when there was finally company to entertain, that grand feasts like this were possible.

"Wow," was all Beau could manage when he saw the table. "Mrs. Potts, how do you do it?"

"Lots of practice," answered the teapot genially, rolling about on her little trolley cart. "And it helps that we had decent crops this year."

Princess Lynn was sitting at the far end, dressed unusually formally for the occasion. Due to her increased size, most of the clothes that she'd had as a little girl had long ago been shredded to pieces, but the castle seamstresses (who had ironically been turned into spinning wheels, irons, and quilt racks) had done their best to keep up their lady's apparel, mostly by way of using the castle curtains. The princess rarely wore anything they made for her, preferring to go about in something like a very, very large nightdress all the time, but tonight was an exception. It made a surprising difference.

When Beau was finished staring at the table, he had to stop and stare at the princess, too. "Wow… you look… different tonight."

Lynn blushed, grateful that it wasn't visible under her fur, and scratched at the fringed collar of her dress. "Thanks. The girls made it as a surprise. They worked really hard on it."

"Well, it's really nice," complimented Beau, sitting down across from her. "As a matter of fact, before I forget—" Out of his pocket he drew the small package, passing it across the table, "—I have a present for you, too."

Curiously, Lynn picked it up. It was small, very compact, and not very heavy. She gingerly undid the ribbon and peeled back the paper, revealing a smooth, green cover, splotched in places with glue. "You made me a book?"

"It's a little flimsy," Beau admitted. "I've never done it before, but I know the basics. I got the cover from the library. You'd be surprised how many of those books are falling to pieces. I hope you don't mind my using one book to make another."

"Hey, I gave them to you; they're your books now." Opening the book, Lynn browsed through the pages, carefully turning over the leaves, for fear they might tear. The glue in the binding was still damp, causing a few of the pages to stick together. It wasn't a long book, but it had many pages to it. "Did you write this story yourself?"

"Sort of," he replied. "My mother used to tell us a story kind of like that when we were little. I just sort of embellished it a bit."

Lynn gently closed the book, laying it aside. "I really like it. Thank you." She hesitated, biting her lip. "But I have nothing to give you."

Beau smiled. "That's okay. This is just our first Christmas together."

Lynn returned the smile, hoping desperately that it wouldn't be the last.


	12. Chapter Eleven

_**Eleven**_

By January, the skies seemed to have given up the last of their snow. The weather turned clear, cloudless, and sunny, drawing the birds who had not migrated south out of their holes and nests in search of food.

Often on such days, Beau would go outside with a handful of crumbs, trying to coax the birds nearer. It was something he and Henri had practiced in their spare time. Often, too, Lynn would watch him at it from her balcony. One day, Beau invited her to join him in the great outdoors.

Lynn balked at the prospect. "I haven't been outside for fun in years."

"Well, this is a great day to start," said Beau, offering his arm. "Trust me, the birds only eat the crumbs. Come on, it'll be fun."

Nervously, Lynn agreed, shyly taking his elbow.

They spent quite a while sitting in the snow, waiting as the little birds came hopping up, curiously gazing at them with their dewdrop eyes. By now, they trusted Beau enough to come very near; almost right away, two of them came right up to his hand, snatching up the morsels in their little beaks.

Lynn was somewhat less successful. Filling her paws with crumbs, she frequently moved too suddenly or gave an excited gasp, driving the birds away. Beau couldn't help a chuckle and a shake of the head. "No, no; here, like this." Spreading some seed on the ground in a trail, he positioned Lynn's open palms. "Now, don't move."

Before long, one of the bolder birds drew near to investigate, pecking at the path of food while conspicuously eyeing the offered pile. Hither and thither he bobbed, this way and that, and then fluttered up and landed in the princess' hands.

Lynn was thrilled, letting out a gasp of excitement. "I did it!"

Beau gave her an encouraging smile. Slowly he rose from the damp patch he was now sitting in, brushed the snow and crumbs from his jacket, and wandered over to a nearby tree, leaning against it as the princess began attracting more birds to gather crumbs from her hands. It struck him how far things had come from her fierce outbursts and cantankerous mood swings when they'd first met. There were still days when she could be rather tiresome, but that sort of tiresome wasn't the same as the fierceness it had been before. Slowly, he was beginning to feel an odd, new emotion he couldn't place the name of for this neglected, tormented girl. It was like friendship, only, perhaps, something more…

By this point, Princess Lynn was fairly covered in birds. But they all scattered when a large, white, round object hurtled through the air and landed squarely in the middle of her face.

Lynn spluttered, shaking snow out of her eyes. "Hey!"

Across the yard, Beau snickered, packing another snowball together. "Great catch; try another!"

"Oh, it is so on!" she growled playfully, scooping together as much snow as she could hold into a giant snowball.

The fight lasted for quite a while, the air thick with white projectiles. After this, Beau constructed a short snow fort, which Lynn vastly improved by dragging larger amounts of snow together. For hours, they made snow angels, built a snowman family, occasionally tossed more snowballs at one another, and every now and then stood back to admire their work. The remainder of the yard was soon trampled flat, brown-green mud poking up here and there in the footprints; one set of sturdy boots, the other of clawed paw prints. Eventually, there weren't even any discernible footprints left.

The sky was growing pink and rosy, orange and yellow clouds drifting leisurely across it like paint spills on a magnificent, blotted canvas. Sighing, Beau leaned back against the tree, drinking in the radiance of the evening. Half afraid to do so, Lynn sat next to him, longing to rest her head against his shoulder, but refraining for the sake of said shoulder.

"I wish days like these could last forever," she sighed wistfully.

"Me too," he agreed. Unconsciously, he laid a hand in her paw, gently squeezing two furry fingers.

When the glorious, golden glow had at last faded from the sky, they got up, shivering, and hurried back inside. Always prompt, Mrs. Potts had prepared some hot cocoa in the parlor and stirred up the fire to a cozy blaze. Beau helped Lynn strip off her stiff, snow-coated cloak, pried off his dripping boots, and the two sat down together in front of the fire, Beau selecting one of his books to read.

"What are you reading now?" the princess asked curiously.

"I've just started this one," he answered, showing her the cover. "Have you ever read it?"

"Well, no," Lynn mumbled sheepishly. "To be honest, I haven't really done much reading for a long time."

Beau glanced away. "That's understandable." He thought for a minute, then said, "How about you read it to me?"

Lynn winced a little. "I… ah, that is… I don't really know how. I mean, I do, but I haven't for a long time, that's all."

"I can help you through it," he suggested. "Don't worry, it'll be a snap."

"That sounds nice." Lynn settled into a more comfortable position, looking over his shoulder at the pages. "'O for a'… That says 'muss,' right?"

"'Muse,'" corrected Beau, smiling.

"I knew that."

Out at the parlor door, Lumière, Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts were watching eagerly. Chip hovered about, peeking round the teapot's sides. "What's going on in there?"

"Well, bless my soul!" murmured Mrs. Potts.

"Who'd have guessed it?" Cogsworth shook his head, hardly able to hide his elation.

"I knew it!" whispered Lumière excitedly. "So close, so very close now!"

"What?" called Chip, peering under the candlestick's elbow brackets. "Come on, guys! What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you when you're older," shushed Mrs. Potts, giving his cheek an affectionate little kiss. Chip scrunched up his handle (that was his nose), but ceased his pestering.

The weeks panned away as January slipped quietly into February. Beau's and the princess' growing affections for one another had not gone unnoticed by the castle staff, who began whispering excitedly together about the possibility of hope. "Perhaps it is true! Perhaps we shall all be human again!" Throughout the next month, the suspense was positively maddening.

As the winter was drawing to a close, Beau happened to be strolling alone down a corridor, deeply absorbed in a book, when he suddenly overheard half of a conversation between one of the maids and Mrs. Potts.

"—an extraordinary affair," the maid hissed. "Just to think about it is torturing me!"

"There's time yet," said Mrs. Potts, ever cheerful as always. "Her Highness' birthday is only a few days away. If all goes well—"

Not wanting to eavesdrop, Beau stepped around the corner. "Lynn's birthday is coming up? I didn't know that. How old will she be?"

Mrs. Potts' lid rattled a bit as she whirled round, but she gave him a hearty smile. "Good evening to you, Master Beau. She'll be turning twenty-one this year."

"That's wonderful," said Beau. "Is there going to be a party?"

Mrs. Potts and the maid looked uncomfortably at each other. "Her Highness… does not enjoy birthdays," informed the maid cautiously, glancing nervously around. "In fact, we have never celebrated anything all this time, apart from burning a Yule log. We've never had anything to celebrate."

Beau couldn't believe it. "You mean she hasn't had a real birthday in almost ten years? Well, we'll certainly have to fix that."

Mrs. Potts gave him a knowing look. "Is there some surprise you have in mind?"

"Yes," he replied, thinking it over and liking it more and more by the minute. "We should throw her a big dinner party, and we'll have all her favorite kinds of food, and we can have dancing and music—"

Mrs. Potts was beaming. "Why, that's a lovely idea! I'm sure she'll be thrilled! How about we plan it for—let me see—the last day of winter?"

"That's perfect," said Beau, nodding. "In the meantime, we can tell everyone about it and have everything ready before then."

"Excellent!" Mrs. Potts bounced happily onto her trolley, rolling away down the hall. "I'll have all the chefs get cooking up right away. This will be the most spectacular event we've ever had!"

Smiling, Beau continued down the hall. He had to keep Lynn distracted from all the hubbub if this was to be a proper surprise.

For the next while, the servants were quite busy preparing for the special occasion. It was a far more important one for them than Beau yet knew, so they were extra diligent in their cleaning, sweeping, and polishing. While they were busy making the castle sparkle from top to bottom, Beau stayed with the princess, keeping her busy with improving her reading.

The seamstresses in particular had a very special gift in store for their lady. In one of the upstairs halls hung an enormous curtain, which had, under the decline of years, slowly worn away at one of its hangings. Now, it was still there, drooping sideways to the floor, covered with dust, but still in fairly good condition. The maids had it taken down and washed; then, the seamstresses took over the task of cutting away the old cloth, taking it in, drawing up patterns, and stitching together the loveliest possible garment they could imagine. It was quite a large undertaking, and none of the seamstresses were really sure what the outcome would be.

By the day before the party, all was ready, the whole castle fairly buzzing with anticipation. Beau could hardly contain himself when Mrs. Potts told him about the secret project. "And it's all owing to you, I might say," she added. "I must say, you've done this place the best we could ever have wished for. You have our sincerest thanks."

Beau bowed his head, his cheeks getting hot. "Really, it's quite all right. I'm just trying to help."

"And you have," said Mrs. Potts, eyes shining. "Which reminds me, we've made something for you, too." She pointed with her spout at something hanging over the back of a nearby chair.

Beau blinked in surprise. "For me? But why?" Crossing to the chair, he picked up the thing. It was a gold waistcoat, complete with jacket, lapels, and breeches to match.

"You didn't think we were letting you attend a party without a proper suit, did you?" Mrs. Potts gave him a wink.

Beau stared in awe at the new garments. "Mrs. Potts, you are amazing."


	13. Chapter Twelve

_**Twelve**_

The day of the party dawned bright and clear. It was warmer today; a fine mist was creeping over the yard from all the snow that was beginning to melt. Spring was just around the corner.

Lynn could tell there was something fishy in the air today. Breakfast was unusually calm and civil, as was lunch. By the afternoon, the silence had continued so vigorously that she knew there was definitely something suspicious in play when Mrs. Potts politely asked her to accompany her to the west wing.

"Okay, what's going on?" she demanded as they came up the stairs. "You guys have never talked less than you have today. You're not giving me the silent treatment, are you?"

"Certainly not, your Highness," Mrs. Potts reassured her. "You'll understand in due course."

When they entered Lynn's room, her suspicions were confirmed. The room had been cleaned and organized, all the broken, old toys had been put away (or tossed out, more likely), and a bath had been drawn for her. "What's all this?"

Mrs. Potts was practically bubbling over. "Tonight's going to be a very special night, Highness! Beau is quite a gentleman; he's planned the whole thing out just for you."

Lynn's mouth fell open; she could hardly dare to believe it. "This is… his idea?"

"Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Potts sincerely. "And you'd better hurry, too, so into the tub!"

For the next twenty minutes or so, every inch of the princess was wetted, shampooed, lathered, and scrubbed. This was no pleasant experience, as it took loads and loads of water to get all the soap rinsed out of her fur. At the end of it, she looked disturbingly skeletal.

Lynn peeled her wet mane out of her eyes. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"I'm afraid you don't have time to be timid," warned Mrs. Potts. "If you want this to work, you'd better let him know tonight."

Lynn shook herself out like a wet dog. The maids shrieked, darting for cover. Mrs. Potts was entirely drenched, but undaunted in spirits. "When the moment is right, you confess your feelings. You care for the lad, don't you?"

"More than anything," grunted the princess as the maids toweled her dry. That done, she was now being attacked with combs from all directions.

"Then, you must tell him," advised Mrs. Potts.

"Now, Highness," scolded one maid gently when Lynn had attempted to dodge the combs they were sticking at her, "just hold still a bit. We must get your hair untangled from your… um, fur."

"It's _all_ fur!" yelped Lynn as the hairdresser yanked at a snarl.

"Here, now." Another maid butted in, carefully picking out the tangles. Carefully smoothing the hair flat, she pulled the longer part of it up with a silk ribbon. "There we are; now, you look a queen."

"Not yet," sang a third maid, making for the wardrobe. "Now for the _pièce de résistance."_

Beau had a much faster, more comfortable time getting ready. The new coat and tails fit splendidly, as did the shoes Garderobe managed to procure for him. "I must say, Master Beau, you look right gentlemanly," the wardrobe told him, positively quivering with excitement.

Beau smiled, shaking his head. "Honestly, I don't really think I can do the coat justice. But thank you, all the same."

Heading downstairs at last, he found Lumière making last-minute adjustments and putting on the finishing touches. "All set?" he asked them.

"Everything is perfect, monsieur," Lumière confirmed with a salute. "No one could ask for better. There will be music, romantic candlelight, provided by myself—"

With a scuttling of wooden feet, Cogsworth hurried up to them, giving a low bow and gesturing towards the stairs. "Your lady, sir."

Beau looked up, suddenly feeling as if his heart had stopped.

Princess Rosalynn airily descended the stairs, dressed in a shimmering blue Mantua gown with a gold petticoat, edged with gold brocade. Her fur was neatly brushed, her unruly mane had been tamed, and her eyes were shining. For once, she looked and felt more human than she had in many a year.

Beau realized his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it. Clearing his throat, he went and stood at the foot of the stair. Lynn approached, shyly taking his offered arm, and the two made their way to the dining hall.

"You're looking well," he commented.

"I feel fantastic," she said with a nervous laugh. "I, uh, had a bath."

"Well, I'm certainly glad," said Beau. "That you feel good, I mean."

Their eyes met meaningfully. Lynn dropped her gaze first, once again thankful no one could tell she was blushing. "So, I have to ask: what's all this about?"

By now, they had reached the table. With a flourish, Beau offered the princess a chair. "Mrs. Potts told me your birthday was coming up, so I thought it was high time you had a decent party. Everyone helped out, of course."

Lynn sat down, gingerly smoothing her gown. She felt as light as if she were made of air, yet wary that every movement she made would break something. The seamstresses had done their work well with that curtain; even the drawstring, which they hadn't been able to get off without ruining the fabric, made a useful sash, hidden under the skirt. It was perhaps the most beautiful, most awkward garment anyone had ever worn.

Dinner was delicious and easy to manage. Through constant hard work, Lynn had managed to civilize her table manners to near perfection, even with the tiny, delicate silverware. Beau noticed the effect; though he didn't say so, he was duly impressed.

When dinner was finished, Beau once again offered her his arm. "Care for a dance?"

Lynn's heart began fluttering rapidly. "I-I don't really know how. I never learned."

Beau grinned sheepishly. "That makes two of us. We're a perfect match."

Had anyone else been to see it, that night's events would have certainly been hard to forget. The rest of the servants were just as curious to watch what was happening; they crowded around the doors, keeping just out of sight. A few of the musicians, who'd been changed into viols, flutes, and the like, struck up a few familiar waltzes. It was a rather odd spectacle; since neither one of them knew exactly how to dance, they settled for merely spinning in circles around the room. Still, it was great fun; and, after a rondo, several waltzes, and a quickstep, both were out of breath and rather dizzy, whereupon they went out onto the balcony for some air.

The night was warm and the stars were out, sparkling over the gardens, which were almost waking up. Heaving a contented sigh, Beau leaned against the railing. "Well, your Highness, how do you like your birthday present?"

Lynn gazed at him, eyes aglow. "This is the best birthday I have ever had in my life."

They were silent for several minutes. Lynn knew that her opportunity had come; she must tell him her affections, or all would be lost. Carefully choosing her words, she asked, "Beau, are you… happy here with me?"

Beau was mildly surprised. "Yes, of course." Then, his expression clouded as his thoughts flew elsewhere. Troubled, he turned away.

Lynn caught the change. "But…?"

Beau hesitated, then sighed. "It's just… I just wish I could see my family again. I miss them so much."

Lynn chewed her lip thoughtfully, wondering what she could do. Then, an idea came to her. "There is a way," she told him, taking his hands. "Come with me."

Upstairs, in the west wing, the princess showed him her magic mirror. "This can show you anything you wish to see." She pressed it into his hand. "Just ask it."

Beau looked it over. It seemed a perfectly ordinary mirror, but he knew the castle well enough to know better. Holding it in front of him, he said the first thing that came to mind. "I'd like to see my father, please."

The mirror blazed to life, clouding over. When the mist faded, a cold, damp stretch of unknown woods, somewhere in the forest, could be seen. On the ground, in a shallow ditch, lay old Maurice, in a pile of dead leaves. His face was deathly pale and he was coughing fitfully.

"Papa!" gasped Beau in distress. "Oh, no, he's so sick; he could be dying and he's all alone! Someone has to help him!"

And now, here it was at last: the dreadful choice Lynn must face. She knew it had been coming; she'd tried to put off her growing misgivings all the while. But they could be put off no longer; the moment of action was at hand.

On the table, the rose still hovered, one single petal still clinging feebly to the steeple. Lynn could practically feel her heart tearing apart, but she knew what she must do. Without looking at him, she said quietly, "Then… then you must go to him."

Beau almost dropped the mirror in astonishment. "What did you say?"

"I release you," said Lynn, still not turning around. "You're no longer my prisoner. You can leave whenever you wish."

Beau's mind reeled as he tried to process what had just happened. "You mean… I'm free?"

"Yes," whispered Lynn, bowing her head.

Breathing much faster now, Beau threw his arms around the princess. "Oh, thank you!"

That almost undid the girl right there. When he held the mirror out to her, she gently pushed it away. "Take it with you, so you can always look back and… and remember." Her voice broke.

Beau brushed a finger along her cheek. "Thank you for understanding."

Lynn held his eyes, longing to tell him how she felt. But the words were caught in her throat, and before she uttered them, he turned and was gone.

Only seconds later, Cogsworth peered around the doorframe, beaming proudly. "Well, I'd say this is going just swimmingly. I knew you had it in you." He gave a knowing wink.

Lynn didn't move, staring into blank space. "I let him go."

Cogsworth faltered, his cheery grin slipping right off his face. "Yes—y-you… what? How could… you… do that?"

"I had to," said Lynn hoarsely.

"Yes, yes," fumbled Cogsworth. "B-but… _why_?"

The tears finally began trickling into the princess' fur. "Because I love him."

"She did _what_!?" cried the servants in the hall.

Cogsworth hung his head. "Yes, I'm afraid it's true."

"But she was so close!" wailed Lumière miserably.

Mrs. Potts shook her head sadly. "After all this time, she's finally learned to love."

"But that's it, then!" cried the candlestick. "That should break the spell!"

"But it's not enough," corrected Mrs. Potts. "He has to love her in return. And now, it's too late."

In all the talk and discussion, no one noticed as Chip sidled quietly away, slipping around the corner and out of sight.

Beau changed out of his party clothes as fast as he could. Garderobe had fallen back asleep, so there was no need to worry about her. There was a leather satchel lying somewhere nearby; locating it, he stuffed the mirror into it, along with everything else he would need. He practically flew down the passageway, out into the main hall, and to the stable. In ten minutes, he had Philippe saddled, bridled, and mounted, then kicked him into a canter and sped off toward the gate. "Hold on, Papa," he muttered to himself. "I'm on my way."

From her window, Lynn watched as he sped on, through the gate and away down the road. When he disappeared from view, she sat down, buried her face in her arms, and began sobbing.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_**Thirteen**_

What had happened to Maurice was this: he had left his home, making his way through the forest, desperately trying to reach any town he could within fifty miles. Thus far, he'd only managed to reach four, completely losing any bearings he'd had of his direction in the meanwhile. For three months, he wandered across the country, begging for help of anyone he met. They simply brushed him off as a beggared lunatic and paid him no heed. More than once, he'd forded the river on foot, which soaked him to the skin and chilled him still further. At last, when his provisions were gone and he could go on no farther, he stumbled into a small hollow and lay there, awaiting death.

And there he was now as Beau galloped through the forest, calling, "Papa!" at intervals. The mirror's image had shown a large patch of oak trees, so Beau headed down the road, glancing this way and that. If he was fortunate, he'd find his father before the wolves did.

At last, Beau saw something sticking out from a thorn bush just off the road. It was Maurice's cloak. Springing down from the horse, Beau came nearer to investigate and almost fell headlong on top of Maurice's cold, stiff form.

"Papa!" Beau knelt beside him, feeling his face. Maurice gave a moan; he was alive, but only just. Without wasting another moment, Beau lifted the old man onto Philippe's back, jumped back into the saddle, and pounded off again down the road, this time headed back towards home.

 _Home_. He could still hardly believe that he was finally free; but he pushed the thoughts aside for the sake of his father. He would worry more about that later.

It was nearly midnight when Philippe came thundering out of the woods, halting at the last cottage. Beau jumped down, pulling Maurice after him. "Mama!" he called, hammering on the door. "Mama, quick!"

In another minute, the door opened. Clara's white face appeared, lit by a single candle she held. "Who's there? Maurice, is that you?"

"Mama, it's me," Beau explained quickly. "It's Beau; I've come home. Papa's sick; please, let us in."

There was no need for further explanation; Clara stepped back, allowing them in, then shut the door fast after them. All was quiet once more.

Unbeknownst to the house, only one other person witnessed the arrival of Beau and Maurice. Huddled behind a tree, Loretta shivered as she watched them go inside. Her nightly vigils had not been pleasant; she'd developed a nasty cold over the course of waiting. But now, they'd returned at last, so she stumbled back to the town as fast as she could. Georgiana would be notified of this.

When Maurice finally came to, he was lying in his bed, surrounded by his family; _all_ his family. At first, he couldn't make out what had happened. Dazed, he stared round. "What… how…?"

Clara squeezed his hand, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Oh, Maurice, you've had us so worried!"

Maurice struggled to sit up, still confused. "But I don't understand… How did I get here?"

"I brought you," answered Beau, taking his father's other hand. "You got lost in the forest, remember?"

Maurice blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. "But I was looking…" Then, he threw his arms around his son. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

Henri and Pierre had both been awakened by the ruckus. They came over, rubbing their eyes. "What's going on?" yawned Pierre.

Henri saw Maurice in bed, then launched himself into his arms. "Papa's back! And Beau, too!"

Maurice hugged his boys to him, then turned back to Beau, frowning in confusion. "But what about the beast?"

Henri at Beau with goggle-eyes. "Yeah, Beau; Papa told us you were a prisoner. How did you escape?"

"I didn't escape," replied Beau gently. "She let me go."

Maurice was agog. "That horrible monster?"

"She's different now," Beau insisted. "She's changed."

"What are you talking about?" Pierre crossed his arms, not pleased at being roused in the middle of the night, glad as he was to have his father back. "Beau, where have you been? You had us all worried sick! What were you doing for the last three months?"

"It's a long story," said Beau, setting his satchel on the bed. "It sounds completely crazy, but I was staying in an enchanted castle with a princess who's been turned into a beast."

They all stared at him.

"I have proof," continued Beau, rifling through the bag. "There's a magic mirror—"

The mirror slid out onto Maurice's lap, and along with it, Chip came clattering out. Shaking himself, the little cup looked around. "Hi!"

Clara leaped back, knocking Pierre in the ribs as she did. "Gracious, what is that!?"

"A stowaway," said Beau, smiling in spite of himself.

Henri peered closer, while his mother and Pierre edged back against the far wall. "Is it alive?"

"Of course I am!" said Chip indignantly. Henri jerked back.

"He's under an enchantment," explained Beau.

Maurice picked up the teacup, recognition dawning on him. "Why, hello there, little fella. Didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Chip looked up at Beau with a questioning look. "Beau, why'd you go away? Don't you like us anymore?"

"Of course I do, Chip," Beau assured him. "I only—"

At that moment, there came a knock at the door. By now, it was almost four in the morning, so this was definitely not a casual visit.

Clara went to the door and peered out. With a start, she recognized the lean, wolfish face of the man on the step. "Monsieur D'Arque!"

D'Arque nodded in greeting. "Good evening, Madame. I understand your husband has recently returned from his travels?"

Clara frowned suspiciously. "Yes, but he has been very ill. He cannot see anyone, particularly at this hour." As she spoke, she observed a few other, unknown shadows standing in front of the house. In fact, there was quite a crowd outside by now, many carrying torches, and none of the faces looked very friendly.

Beau came to stand beside his mother. "What's going on? Who is this?"

"I am Monsieur D'Arque," the gentleman informed stoically. "I've come to collect your father."

"Our father?" Beau grew alarmed. "What do you want with him?"

"Oh, don't worry; we'll take good care of him." D'Arque motioned to the crowd behind. Out in the lane stood a large wagon. On its side was painted in large letters, _D'Arque Asylum for Loons_.

Clara gasped. "My husband isn't crazy!"

"He was raving like a lunatic!" called someone from the crowd. "We all heard him, didn't we?" There were shouts of consent from the rest of the people.

Beau stepped in front of the door. "No! We won't let you do this!"

Hearing the commotion, Maurice stumbled out of bed and came to the door. "Clara, what's happening? What are all these people doing here?"

"Ah, Maurice!" jeered another voice. "Tell us again, old man, just how big was the beast?"

Maurice frowned in confusion. "Uh, well, it was—that is—enormous. I'd say at least eight—no, more like ten feet."

The crowd erupted into raucous laughter. D'Arque gave a nasty smirk. "I'm afraid you can't get much crazier than that."

"That's no reason to take him away!" cried Beau, placing himself in front of his father.

D'Arque raised a bony-fingered hand. Two large men pushed the boy aside, each seizing one of Maurice's arms and dragging him out towards the wagon. Maurice struggled and kicked. "Let go of me! I tell you, I'm telling the truth!"

"Stop!"Clara caught hold of his hand, but the men wrenched it out of his grasp. She rounded on D'Arque. "You can't do this to us! We've done nothing!"

D'Arque merely scowled, turning his back on her.

Beau watched in horror, his mind churning. As he wondered what to do, a soft, gentle voice from his left spoke up. "Poor Beau. It's a shame about your father; truly, it is."

Beau turned. Georgiana stood not far away, Loretta quivering just behind her elbow. The neck of Georgiana's nightdress was pulled slightly lower than normal. Still, as she was the only familiar friend of the lot, Beau ran to her. "You know he's not crazy. Your family has a high standing, right? Surely, you can do something!"

"Why, certainly, I can," said Georgiana, batting her eyes at him. "Of course, it may be a bit of a stretch; I don't really see any other way."

"What is it?" he asked, eager for any solution.

"Well," said Georgiana slowly, "if we were to be married, I suppose we could use my dowry to get your father out of there. I'm sure my father would understand, but he'd only consent if it were done properly." She allowed herself one brief, small smirk.

This was her fatal mistake. Beau took a step back, now seeing her as she truly was. "You did this, didn't you?" he said quietly. "You used my family to get to me!"

Caught red-handed, Georgiana balled her hands into fists, clenching her jaw; she refused to lose whatever she had. "Will you marry me or not? One little word, Beau; that's all it takes."

Beau's answer was firm. "Never."

Georgiana's face flushed, her eyes blazing. "Fine!" she spat, all charm gone. "We could have had something, you and I. I could have given you everything you ever dreamed of! But if this is how you want it, fine. Good luck getting your father out."

Maurice was still grappling with the men trying to throw him into the wagon. Desperately, Beau rushed back inside the house for one last option. Coming back, he shouted, "My father's not crazy and I can prove it!" All eyes turned to him. Holding the enchanted mirror high, Beau cried, "Show me the beast!"

The mirror flashed in the torchlight, then revealed Princess Rosalynn, howling in agony and despair. The crowd gasped, some leaping back. There were screams and cries of disbelief. Georgiana's face went white.

"Is it dangerous?" someone asked at length.

"No, no," Beau reassured them. "She'd never hurt anyone; she's actually really nice. She's under an enchantment, but she's my friend."

"'She'?" Georgiana's eyes were lit with a dangerous light. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you had feelings for this monster." She spat the last word with disgust.

"She's not the monster," said Beau angrily. "You are!"

For a second, Georgiana stood, frozen with rage. Then, she sprang forward, quick as lightning, and snatched the mirror from his hand. "He's as crazy as the old man!" she shrieked, waving the mirror about in fury. "That _thing_ is a menace and a danger to our home! It will make off with our children; it'll come after them in the night! I think the best thing we can do about it is to have it destroyed! I say we kill the beast!"

The crowd broke into wild cheering and hooting. Here was something they enjoyed; a strong, passionate speech, regardless of subject or speaker. All matters concerning "crazy old Maurice" were forgotten; now, there would be a hunt!

"Stop!" Beau begged Georgiana. "I won't let you do this!"

Georgiana threw him a sneer. "Sorry, love; you had your chance." Raising her voice, she added, "If they're not with us, they're against us! We can't let them warn the creature!"

Loud cries of agreement were heard. Inside the house, Henri quietly picked up the little talking teacup and whispered, "Time to go." With the nimbleness of a monkey, he slipped noiselessly through the back door and sought refuge in an unnoticed haystack.

Meanwhile, before they knew what was happening, several large men had surrounded the rest of the family, rounded them up, and herded them towards the cellar. Strong arms pushed at Maurice, Clara, and the boys, driving them down. The door was shut fast and a large beam slid across the entrance.

Once that was out of the way, Georgiana mounted the front steps as a podium. "Listen to me, good people! If we want to rid our village of this monster, we'll need the right tools! Meet at the main road in ten minutes' time with whatever weapons you can carry. Then, we're off to kill the beast!"

Still cheering, the crowd dispersed into the night, heading off to find whatever they could scrounge. Georgiana smiled fiercely at her accomplishment, but Loretta was terrified out of her mind.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, hiding her trembling hands behind her back.

"I'm going to get rid of that beast once and for all!" snapped Georgiana, now making for the road herself. "If you don't want to come, that's fine with me; in fact, it's better if you don't." Storming off, she continued to herself, "I'm going to kill that beast and I'm going to do it myself."

Loretta watched her go, heart thudding rapidly. This wasn't at all how she'd imagined things to go; it had all gotten horribly out of control. But what could she possibly do to try to fix it?

There was a rustling noise as Henri slid out of his hiding spot, his hair full of straw. This was followed by a curious clinking noise by Loretta's ankle. "What's going on?"

Loretta looked down. There was a tiny teacup beside to her foot. She could have sworn it had just spoken. But that was silly; teacups didn't talk.

She did a double-take when the cup actually looked up at her with wide eyes. "Where did Beau go?" it asked, plainly and clearly.

"He got locked in the cellar," Loretta told it, still surprised.

"We have to get them out," announced Henri emphatically. "Come on!" He hurried over to the cellar door. Loretta and the teacup looked at each other; then the cup gave something like a shrug and bounced after Henri. Still scratching her head, Loretta followed it.

The beam blocking the door was too heavy for Loretta and Henri to lift by themselves, and Chip wasn't much more help. "We need to find something to get this off," he said with a frown. He looked at the two humans. "Do you know where to find anything?"

Loretta looked around, as if something useful might be hanging from a proverbial tree. To their right, she happened to glance at the cart, on which Maurice's Great Invention still sat, untouched all through the winter. Curiously, she inspected this anomaly, pulling back the tarp that covered it. Right at the forefront of the Great Invention protruded a large axe.

Henri grinned. "That'll work."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_**Fourteen**_

The crowd hurried back to the main village, grabbing whatever they deemed necessary to bring as a weapon. When they reassembled, Georgiana led the way. She had changed into a set of her brother's clothes; a simple shirt and pair of leggings, which had a shocking effect. She'd also brought the enchanted mirror, a bow and arrows, and a hunting knife.

"Mademoiselle, are you quite certain you want to come along on this expedition?" one gentleman questioned. "It's not a matter for young ladies such as yourself."

Georgiana mounted her horse smugly. "I have the mirror to guide the way with. Besides, just because I'm a lady doesn't mean I don't know how to hunt." Spurring the horse, she hollered to the mob, "When we reach the castle, take whatever you find. Leave the beast to me!"

The mob shouted their approval. Another gentleman who'd actually heard what she said ventured, "Ah, Mademoiselle, are you quite certain you want to do this?"

"Of course I am!" Georgiana barked at him. "I know how to take care of myself. If I require assistance, I shall ask for it. Now, come on!"

The mob marched down the road with much bravado, following the lead of Georgiana, who used the mirror for directions. No one but she had the faintest idea of what to do when they got to the castle, but all were well prepared for battle. From far off but growing closer, the sound of thunder rumbled, preceding the coming storm.

"I'll kill that beast," Georgiana muttered determinedly to herself, ignoring the flashes of lightning flickering down from the mountains. "If I can't have him, no one will."

The castle had been all too quiet since Beau's departure. Quiet, that is, except for Cogsworth and Lumière having a Complain-Off.

"I knew it," Cogsworth expressed for the seventh or eighth time. "I knew it was foolish to get our hopes up."

"Maybe it would have been better if he had never come at all," huffed Lumière crossly.

Mrs. Potts suddenly came clattering up. "Has anyone happened to see Chip? He's been missing for quite a while, now."

"Perhaps he is hiding somewhere," suggested one maid. "His little heart must be broken, poor dear."

Beside the window, Sultan suddenly sat up, sniffing and trembling. Then, he rushed at the glass, barking madly. The servants hurried over to see what was the matter. " _Sacre bleu_!" ejaculated Lumière.

Up the bridge came the angry mob, complete with torches and pitchforks, carrying a great tree they had felled in the forest to wield as a battering ram. Leaving her horse outside the gate, Georgiana headed the assault, still holding the mirror. Thunder flashed as rain began to pour in torrents over the scene.

Cogsworth took charge. "Warn her Highness, then prepare everyone for battle. If it's a fight they want, they'll get one! We'll be ready for them; who's with me?" He turned just in time to see the door swing shut; everyone else had gone.

Mrs. Potts crept warily to the door of the west wing, knocking softly. "Pardon me, Highness; the castle is under attack. What shall we do?"

The princess stood at her window, one hand on the table where the rose sat. The blue ball gown had been laid aside; Lynn had changed back into her ordinary clothes, thinking how she would never wear that dress again. "It doesn't matter now. Just let them come."

With a sigh, Mrs. Potts turned to go, but Lynn spoke again. "Hey."

"Yes, Highness?" inquired Mrs. Potts, halting.

"I'm really sorry," came the reply. "If it had just been me, it wouldn't matter at all. But I'm sorry you all got mixed up in this, too."

"Oh, no, not at all," soothed Mrs. Potts. "We're all in it together and we'll all stick it out to the end. We'll make it somehow." She hurried back downstairs.

"Not me," whispered Lynn quietly.

 _Bang, bang, bang_! was coming from the heavy front doors when every servant in the castle rushed into the main hall. "Put your backs into it!" called Lumière, bracing himself against the door. Everyone followed his example, barricading the door.

 _Bang, bang, bang_! went the ram. The doors groaned dangerously, their timbers creaking. The hinges were beginning to pull out, the wooden frame splitting where they were attached.

"This isn't working!" one of the maids cried helplessly.

One of the older women; a large writing desk; had dissolved into hysterics. "It is just like the Terror! It is the Terror all over again!"

Mrs. Potts tried to console her. "Now, now, we survived the Terror; we can certainly survive this."

"We must do something!" cried a coat-rack-footman. _Bang, bang, bang_!

Lumière thought hard, his flame flaring with concentration. "Wait, I have an idea!"

 _Bang, bang, CRASH_! The doors burst open at last, splinters flying in all directions. The mob suddenly went very quiet. Before them, neatly arranged in rows on either side, hundreds of various articles of furniture were placed, looming eerily around the crowd. Shadows flickered in the light of the torches as the mob crept soundlessly in, far from the natural way of a mob. Georgiana crept through in front, harboring a growing sense that something odd was going on.

One of the men picked up a lighted candlestick from a table, holding it up.

"NOW!"

There was instant pandemonium as all the furniture suddenly sprang to life and began attacking the crowd. The mob, oh so bold before, was thrown into fear-stricken confusion at this apparent witchcraft. One man raised his axe to strike at a chest only to be tripped up by one of the drawers. Another tried to throw a duster at a bookshelf, but the duster turned on him and beat him about the head. Pots and pans flung themselves onto people's heads, mops and brooms were smacking others, and all of Mrs. Potts' children were pouring boiling hot tea over everyone. Garderobe came barreling down the stairs, hooting wildly and jumping on people; she was one of the more effective fighters present.

In the midst of the commotion, Georgiana stared, gaping at the sight. Then, she shook herself, recovering her wits, and darted unnoticed up the stairs. Her business had nothing to do with magic furniture; she sought out bigger quarry.

Meanwhile, the battle in the foyer was fierce. At one point, Lumière found himself cornered by one man trying to melt him down with a torch. Up on the banister, Cogsworth, wielding a set of pinking shears, slid down to the rescue, right into the unguarded posterior. The man howled, dropping the torch, which gave Lumière time to dart out of danger to the rescue of one of the maids, who was shrieking as a large, oafish man began pulling her feathers out. Lumière intervened by blasting the villain with a jet of his candle flame, then gracefully catching the damsel. Near the doors, Cogsworth displayed masterful swordsmanship with his pinking shears as he single-handedly dueled the tallest ruffian of the lot, who was soon tackled by Garderobe.

Even Sultan did his share. Seizing a random shoe, he proceeded to run off to the kitchen with it, snarling ferociously. As most of the crowd had either run off in terror or retired to unconsciousness by this point, the remainder took the opportunity to escape the main tumult and follow. The footstool was holed up in one corner, growling as it tried to tear the shoe to pieces. The men closed in, ready to attack, when several drawers opened to reveal all the razor-sharp kitchen knives, which was followed by the stove-chef flaring ferociously up out of the darkness. That sent the rest of the mob fleeing in terror, never to return to that particular castle. They had only come for a beast, not a fight with enchanted objects.

The victorious servants cheered, crying out, " _Vive le France_!" and "God save Lumière the Brave and Cogsworth the Bold!" Lumière and Cogsworth appreciated the praise, shaking hands over the battlefield. There had been little to no casualties on their side, save for a few dusters that had lost feathers and one chair with a broken leg.

Back at the cottage, Loretta, Henri, and Chip had hidden until the mob had gone out into the forest before they set to work on the Great Invention.

"So, how does this thing work?" Loretta wondered, pulling the tarp off the contraption.

"I think we need to get it on the ground first," suggested Henri.

This was long, rather complicated process, during which time Loretta nearly broke her ankle more than once, Chip came close to being shattered, and the cart almost upended the entire machine. But fortune was with them; having only two wheels, the cart itself acted as a sort of ramp to push the Invention down, until it slid out onto the grass.

"Great!" Loretta wiped her brow, gazing triumphantly at their work. "So, uh… how do you start it?"

"I know how to work it," said Henri proudly, fastening on his protective goggles. "The first thing we have to do is light the furnace and get it heated up."

"Good idea," said Chip. "Anyone have a match?"

For the fortieth time in a row, Beau kicked the cellar doors. They remained unyielding.

"Beau, for pity's sake!" pleaded Clara. "You'll only do yourself an injury."

"I have to get out there; I have to warn her!" Beau looked desperately around, trying to locate some kind of tool. For the fortieth time in a row, he saw that there was nothing that could help them; only the pickled onions could prevent them from starvation. In despair, he sat down, tears burning in his eyes. "This is all my fault. I never should have left her."

"This is not your fault," comforted Maurice, patting his shoulder. "Don't worry, they won't leave us here forever."

"That'll be too late!" cried Beau in frustration. "When it's all over, she could be hurt or—" His throat locked as he tried not to imagine the worst.

Pierre suddenly stiffened. "Hey, does anyone else hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Maurice.

"Shh!" Cautiously, Pierre edged to the door. "I think it's coming from outside." Cupping his hands around his ear, he pressed them to the wood. For several minutes, they waited tensely, listening. Gradually, Beau began to hear something; a steady _chooga,_ _chooga,_ _chooga_ was slowly growing louder. Soon, it was joined by another noise; a brisk _thud, thud, thud_. With this, the cellar door began to vibrate.

Pierre's eyes went wide; he quickly leapt back. "Get away from the door!"

"Look out!" cried Maurice, hauling his wife out of danger.

And not a moment too soon! The door burst inward and something enormous and heavy fell into the cellar with a tremendous _CRASH_! Smoke billowed up, making everyone cough. When it cleared, they saw a pile of gears, springs, and pieces of torn metal; all that was left of the Great Invention.

Out from the pile, a sooty arm groped. Loretta clawed her way to the surface, spitting out coal dust, gingerly clutching Chip in one hand. She was shortly followed by Henri, face blackened, except for the goggle outlines around his eyes. "That was amazing!"

Chip hopped down, completely unharmed by the adventure. "You guys gotta try this thing."

Maurice gazed the remains of his Invention. "It works! It actually works!"

"Yes, it works quite well," agreed Loretta. "Or, at least, it did." She freed herself from the wreckage, brushing off soot. In her other hand, she held a crumpled mesh of twisted brass. "Sorry, but we had to borrow one of your lanterns to get the furnace going."

"I don't care how you did it," congratulated Maurice, shaking her hand.

Beau sprang into action. "You three are heroes! Quick, there's not a moment to lose." In a single bound, he cleared the cellar steps and ran for the horse, who was still quietly stabled in the yard. "I have to take Philippe; he's faster. You all can follow on foot, but be careful!"

" _You_ be careful!" Clara called after him.

"Good luck!" sang Loretta, who still had not the faintest idea what was going on.

Another rumble of thunder from shook the earth. Beau clambered onto Philippe bareback, kicking the gate open with one foot, and turned to face the roiling clouds hovering over the mountains. It would be sunrise soon, but the sky concealed it. "Hang on, Lynn, I'm coming!" Spurring the horse, he galloped off as fast as he could into the night.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_**Fifteen**_

The rain washed down the windows of the castle, darkening the already dimmed pre-dawn light. Princess Rosalynn still gazed out the window, unaware and uncaring of all that had happened downstairs. All she wanted now was to die human; it was better than living alone as an animal for the rest of her life.

The door of her room creaked open as Georgiana stepped carefully into the room. Lynn glanced over her shoulder, giving her a half-hearted look before turned away with a sigh.

Georgiana smirked. "Well, well, here's the great, big pussycat everyone's been talking about." She sauntered casually around the room, still gripping the bow. "I've heard so much about you; although, I must say, you're not as good looking in person."

Lynn made no response.

"By the way," added Georgiana, "is this yours?" She held up the mirror, then flung it to the floor. The glass shattered into a thousand fragments, a light mist floating up from its broken frame. "Tsk, tsk, seven years' bad luck," tutted Georgiana, stepping over the shards, closer to the beast. "Here's your first taste." With lightning speed, she whipped out an arrow and fired it, straight into Lynn's shoulder.

Lynn screamed, rocking forward. Georgiana feigned mock horror. "Dear me, I've hurt you. Here, let me help." Dancing up, she grasped the arrow shaft, braced her foot on the princess' back, and yanked the arrow out, shoving Lynn through the window. Lynn smashed through it out onto the roof, sliding on the rain-slicked shingles.

Georgiana giggled nastily, casting the arrow away. So confident was she at this point that she flung away her bow as well. "Come on, get up! You're making me feel bad." Sliding down to where Lynn lay, she gave her another kick in the ribs. Lynn slid limply down, rolling to a stop over a flying buttress. Below lay a nasty drop over the deep gorge.

Georgiana nimbly dropped down, standing over the limp form. "What's the matter?" she taunted. "Too kind and gentle to fight? He said you were, you know," she added viciously.

Lynn closed her eyes, the rain concealing tears she no longer bothered to hold back. This pleased Georgiana immensely. "Were you in love with him, beast?" she rattled on. "What made you think he'd want you when he had someone like me?"

Moaning, Lynn turned away. Georgiana broke a small statuette off of one of the decorative castle spires. "Don't worry," she told the princess, raising the statue high, aiming to crush her skull. "I'm here to put you out of your misery."

"No!"

Lynn's eyes opened wide. Looking down, she saw a horse charging up the bridge, a familiar figure on its back. " _Beau_?"

"Georgiana, stop!" Beau shouted up at them.

Lightning flashed. Georgiana brought the statue down… only to be stopped by a large, hairy arm.

Lynn rose to her feet, snarling viciously. Her wet fur stood out, highlighting every feature of her ferocity.

Georgiana's face went stark white. " _Mon Dieu_."

Lynn lunged forward. Georgiana screamed, scrambling back over the slippery shingles. Over and over they rolled, first one on top and then the other. The last time, Georgiana used the momentum to her advantage, pulling her legs up and throwing the beast off her. While Lynn scrambled back around, Georgiana mounted the roof of a bay window, raising the statue once again. "It's over, beast," she snarled with all the venom she could muster. "Beau is _mine_."

The statue came down. Lynn barely managed to dodge it, grabbing Georgiana by the wrist. With the other hand, she snatched the statue, flinging it down over the battlements. Then, picking up the girl by the throat, she held her over the edge of the roof, dangling her above the drop into the abyss.

Georgiana screamed, then, pathetically, began to cry. "Let me go, please," she whimpered. "Don't hurt me; I'll do anything!"

There was a long, tense moment. Lynn stared at her cowardly adversary, the echo of another, similar plea returning to mind. Slowly, she drew back, setting the girl on her feet. Before she released her, she pulled her close, their faces almost touching. "Get out," she whispered, then dropped her like a hot coal. Still sniffing, Georgiana scrambled backwards, her cheeks scarlet with insulted fury.

"Lynn!"

The princess looked up. Beau was standing on the west wing balcony, holding a hand out to her. Lynn's heart skipped several beats. She began climbing up the rain soaked roof towards him, careless of how many times she slipped or took out the shingles. When she reached the balcony, Beau steadied her until she gained her footing.

"You came back," she said weakly, tears of joy blurring her vision.

Beau smiled, his hand lightly caressing her face.

There was a flash of glittering steel. Lynn went rigid, gasping as the wind was knocked out of her. On her side, a bright red stain was rapidly spreading out from where a silver hunting knife protruded.

" _No_!" screamed Beau, throwing his arms around her as she swayed.

Below them, Georgiana's face was flush with triumph, a sly smirk disfiguring her features. "So much for love." Then, bashing through a nearby window, she fled the scene, hurrying downstairs to the main hall, darting past the astonished furniture-servants, and escaped across the bridge and into the forest.

As gently as possible, Beau lifted Lynn over the edge of the railing, prying the cold blade from her side and flinging it away. "Lynn, can you hear me? Please, Lynn!"

Lynn's eyes fluttered, her breath coming raggedly. Slowly, she focused on his face. "You… you came back," she rasped.

"Of course I did," said Beau shakily, squeezing her hand. "I wasn't going to let them—" His voice broke and he bowed his head. "Oh, Lynn, I'm so sorry; this is all my fault. If I'd only gotten here sooner—"

"No, no," the princess quieted him. "Maybe… maybe it's better… this way."

"Don't say that; don't you dare say that," he choked, gritting his teeth. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to steady his emotions. "Look, you're going to be fine. We're together now, we'll get you all doctored up—"

Lynn managed a tiny smile. "There's something… I should have told you," she sighed. "I should have told you… before… but… I love you, Beau."

Tears streamed down Beau's face as he pressed her hand gently against his lips. Lynn sighed again, her voice growing fainter than a whisper. "I'm glad… I got to see you… one last time." Then, her eyes closed and she moved no more.

"No, no. No, no, no, no, no." Beau grasped Lynn's shoulders, but no amount of shaking would bring her back. "Please don't do this," he sobbed, gently lifting her head and cradling it to him. "Please don't leave me; I—I love you."

The last petal of the rose slipped quietly from the stem, fluttering to the ground.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_**Sixteen**_

Georgiana's horse still stood by the gate. Mounting it, Georgiana galloped off at top speed, heading back down the road to Pauvreville.

Too fast! As the horse swung around a sharp turn in the road, she leaned too far over, toppled off its back, and rolled headlong down a steep slope, crashing to a stop at the bottom. The horse galloped on, freed of its rider, back to the stables it had come from.

Dizzily, Georgiana sat up, shaking rain and possibly blood out of her eyes. The rain was letting up some, allowing the early daylight back through. Just in front of her, black against the sky, were three huge, lean shapes, eyes gleaming in the direction of the trespasser.

Springing up, the girl fumbled for her bow, but it was gone. She'd left it back at the castle, along with the knife. Still determined, she prepared to use her fists.

Ten other wolves trotted gracefully out of the trees, sniffing at the air. Georgiana glanced back up the hill, wondering if she could scale it. At its top were the forms of about seven other wolves.

The last rumbles of thunder blotted out the sounds of her very timely demise.

The storm was letting up; the rain had dropped to a gentle sprinkle, the thunder drifting away over the mountains. The castle was glistening, every turret gleaming faintly, as if made of pristine glass. Presently, along with the last pattering of the rain, another sound could be heard; not distinctly at first, but gradually increasing; a soft hissing, like steam.

Beau was too busy crying to notice it right away. Only when he felt something warm brush his hand did he look up. Something else besides raindrops was falling now: strange, multicoloured lights, like shooting stars up close, were glittering everywhere, growing thicker by the minute. They let out sparks when they hit the wet stone, steam rising up from them. This was alarming enough, but soon, something else was happening: slowly, the limp form of the princess began rising off the ground!

Beau scrambled back, watching in awe as the smoky mist enveloped the beast, who was spinning and twisting slowly in the air. Suddenly, a beam of light shot out of one of the large paws—only, it wasn't large anymore. And it wasn't a paw, either, but a whole, human hand. The same thing happened with the back paws, which turned into human feet! The mane rippled out, growing longer and curlier; the fur was retreating from the face. And the face—

With one more surge of light, all the light vanished. A considerably smaller figure drifted back to the ground, its features hidden. Cautiously, Beau edged nearer for a closer look, but started back again when the figure gave a long gasp, drawing deep lungsful of air. Rather stiffly, it got to its feet, the now overlarge clothes hanging down. A tangled curtain of wild, golden ringlets hung down, long and unkempt. Slowly, it raised two trembling hands; completely human hands, hesitantly feeling all over. Then, the figure turned. It was a girl.

Beau stared at her, and she stared back. Her eyes were wide, entirely human, and blue. Soon, they were swimming with tears.

"Beau?"

The girl gave a shaky breath, staring down at herself, touching her newly made hands and face; without fur, without claws. She was so overwhelmed, she stumbled forward onto her knees. Chivalrous as ever, Beau caught her, staring at her face.

"Beau," she said, her voice trembling, "it's me."

Deeply, they gazed into each other's eyes. Beau knew it from the moment the transformation had ended, but somehow, this confirmed it. "It _is_ you!"

Then, both were crying and laughing, Rosalynn's arms flung about his shoulders, his arms around her waist, he swinging her around joyfully. Before they'd finished, their lips met, and they officially shared their first kiss.

Something like a rocket shot up over the castle in a great whirl of sparks. The whole place was suddenly awash with golden light; all the things that had been under enchantment were put right, reverted to their original state. Out onto the balcony, Lumière came clattering up, suddenly shooting up like a sprouting flower. All the waxiness of his complexion bled away, leaving real, solid skin and an energetic grin. Cogsworth soon followed, blossoming into the portly man he was, his mustache put right. Then came Mrs. Potts, who suddenly became all warmth and cherry cheeks and dimples.

Downstairs, the rest of the servants found themselves changing. Garderobe's doors receded back into proper arms, her face no longer flat against a frame. One after another, all the maids and footman rose or shrank or expanded back to their true figures. Sultan, yapping happily and running between everyone's legs, suddenly discovered he had fur once again and scratched behind his ear. Hurrying through the castle doors came the rest of Beau's family, who had to stop to watch Chip spring down to the floor, now a happy, grinning boy with a cowlick in the same place his actual chip had been. All of them were laughing and hugging and singing and dancing for joy.

And outside, appropriately on a balcony, Beau and Rosalynn were kissing under the bright, rosy-golden glow of the dawn.


	18. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

The marriage of Princess Rosalynn to the appointed Lord Beau was a grand affair. It was acknowledged to be rather short on guests, but those who did attend were happy to do so. Maurice, Clara, Pierre, and Henri were now housed in the castle itself. Chip and Henri made fast friends, making new mischief that was secretly a pleasure to everyone. Even Loretta turned up, just for a day or two, to give her regards and wish them the best. The rest of Pauvreville were less willing to venture that way again so soon, even to search for the missing Georgiana; but, in all honesty, no one was really upset about that.

Clara, Beau's mother, volunteered to help out the seamstresses, who were probably the busiest staff members that week. All of the princess' clothes had to be taken in a good deal and a few new oddments were made with whatever was left over. Everyone was suddenly in desperate need of formal attire, as well as attire in general. One of the first things Cogsworth did was to put on a new embroidered waistcoat and fasten to it his little, gold pocketwatch.

"Well, old friend," he said to Lumière their first full day back, "shall we let bygones be bygones?"

"Of course," replied Lumière genially, patting the steward on the back. "I told you he'd break the spell, didn't I?"

"I beg your pardon, old friend," contradicted Cogsworth, chuckling, "but I believe I told you."

These two quickly got back into their regular routine, but for others, the change came a little more difficult. Lynn was now perfectly suited in size for things like walking through doors, playing at the spinet, eating comfortably with silverware, and things of that sort, but she was terribly out of practice. The world seemed so much bigger now than it had been for the last decade; she often wondered what was to become of them all.

"And what of the outside?" she confided to Mrs. Potts during her bridal fitting. "We've been missing for years; no one knew we were even here, until recently. What if someone else finds us or tries to get rid of us?"

Mrs. Potts adjusted her lacey cap, which was quite similar to the lid on a teapot. "Now, Highness, you can't go worrying about that sort of thing all at once. We've been out of the way for a long time; I'm sure we can stay out of the way a bit longer. I wouldn't let it trouble you."

Lynn smiled, focusing instead on the prospect of a new future with her true love.

Spring had fully arrived by the wedding day. All the banners were hung out, every floor was scrubbed and swept, every spoon polished to perfection. From somewhere or other, they'd scrounged up an actual priest who was happy to perform the ceremony for them. The stores were still well stocked, as the cooks happily displayed with their fine banquet, boasting over fifty various dishes, seven desserts, and a splendid cake. To everyone's surprise, Lynn had chosen roses for her bouquet and the arrangements.

"I can forgive an innocent flower," she had told Beau. "After all, they brought me to you."

The splendor of that day has never been seen before or after. Gowned in elegant white muslin, Lynn was given away by Maurice. Clara, Mrs. Potts, and Garderobe were all in tears as the vows were exchanged. When the moment came for Beau to kiss his bride, the audience ruptured into happy cheering and singing.

The reception was positively marvelous, as Maurice testified with his eating three helpings from every dish. Henri and Chip made an attempt to herd Sultan over to their corner to play, which nearly upended one of the tables. Not to anyone's surprise, Lumière and Cogsworth almost got into a fistfight over something ridiculous, before it was broken up by the dog jumping up onto the maitre d', which brought a general round of laughter.

While that was going on, Beau and Rosalynn were stealing a few quiet moments together on the ballroom balcony, admiring a glorious sunset, their fingers entwined. Presently, Lynn said, "Beau, may I ask you something?"

"Of course," he replied. "Anything."

She hesitated, choosing her words. "Do you love me more now than before? I mean, Georgiana was pretty and you didn't like her. But would you love me more or less if I was still a beast?"

Beau leveled his gaze to meet hers. "Lynn, I love you for you. It doesn't matter to me what you look like, or whether or not you have fur."

They both shared a laugh at that. Beau gently kissed her forehead as he continued, "No matter what, you'll always be my one and only."

They were silent again for a moment. Then, Lynn asked, "So, what do we do now?"

Beau thought for a second. "I guess we can try living happily ever after."

And they did.

 _The End_


End file.
